The Devil's Instincts
by fmnst
Summary: Hotch and Emily are called away from the BAU for a temporary reassignment to a taskforce based out of Iraq when an American soldier mysteriously dies. What seems to be a simple case of terrorist violence soon becomes far more complex, and the agents realize that the mission might actually hit closer to home then they previously assumed. Also on ao3 under the same title & author
1. No Good

If the days of the week were a color, Emily decided that Monday was definitely a very melancholy shade of blue.

It would be the type of blue on her baby blanket that her grandmother had knit for her first Christmas, or the type of blue that JJ's quaint sedan sitting in the parking deck was coated with. Or it would be the blue of Hotch's tie of the day. he seemed to wear darker colors on Mondays, and Emily wondered if he too was taking the colors of the week into consideration when picking out what to wear.

Emily snorted to herself as she flipped a paper over on her desk. Hotch was a no nonsense guy, and no-nonsense guys definitely didn't worry about the color of their ties and how it would match the mood of the day. If he had any idea that she was actually spending time trying to decide what shade of blue this Monday was, he'd probably smile that little half grin, and shake his head slightly that was reserved for when she was thinking about something too hard, or when Reid had just gone on a five minute rambling monologue about a certain topic that no one had really asked about.

"Workin hard, or hardly workin, pretty boy?"

Emily pulled her head up from her paperwork to gaze across the aisle to where Morgan was staring at Reid, who, admittedly, looked like he was doing anything but what he was supposed to be doing.

"Yeah, Reid, if me and Morgan have to suffer through this you gotta pull your weight too." Emily smirked, watching the genius purse his lips and expose the cross word puzzle he was currently focused on.

"I finished all my reports. Am I allowed to relax now?"

"What the hell, how did you finish your stack already?" Morgan said, the exasperation in his voice rising. "There's so many!"

"Yeah, it really wasn't that challenging, just a lot of copying." Reid mumbled, burying his nose back into the newspaper he was hiding on his lap.

"There's no way he got the same amount as us." Emily rolled her eyes, lifting her exhausted body from the comfort of her chair to investigate Reid's desk.

The team had had a very long week. Back to back cases were rare, but the BAU had caught two similar cases, one right after the other, and now it was time to play catch up with the administrative part of the job, the part that Emily hated more than anything. Morgan, Reid, and herself usually got stuck with the worst of it, considering JJ had her own cases to review and Hotch had a billion other responsibilities, and Rossi...well somehow the wise old trickster always managed to get out of these things.

Either Hotch had a soft spot for his old mentor, or he had given up on trying to persuade Rossi into doing his busy work. Probably both.

"This is definitely less." Emily teased, lifting the stack of papers from Reid's desk and weighing them in her hands.

"The lack of sleep from the case is getting to you, your delusions are out of control." Reid smiled back, his eyes glinting. Emily was always happy to see Reid teasing her back, even if he was doing it innocently.

"Oooh, kids, look who's here." Morgan whispered, leaning closer to the duo while motioning over to the center of the bullpen. Reid and Emily followed his eyes, and both quieted when they saw the Section Chief weaving through the desks en route to Hotch's office.

Emily noted the deep shade of blue on Strauss' sweater. At least someone else was having a case of the melancholy Mondays.

Strauss wasn't alone, though. There was a very tall fair-skinned man dressed in an expensive looking suit trailing behind her. With every step he took, Emily could almost hear the squeak of his well-polished leather shoes that tapped against the hard floor.

"Wonder who that is." Reid said, hardly looking up from the crossword that had captivated his attention once again.

"Well, whoever it is, they better be here to tell us they're taking us off rotation for a bit, the B team can take some cases." Emily muttered, watching as Hotch stood behind his desk and opened the door when he noticed Strauss climbing the stairs to where he was.

"Doubt it." Morgan replied. "Seems like Bossman was expecting her. You know what that means."

Emily groaned. Morgan was right. Usually if Hotch knew that Strauss had called a meeting, they would be taking another case in the very near future, and usually a high-status one at that.

Strauss disappeared into Hotch's office, and Emily was slightly thrown off guard when she saw her boss close the blinds.

"That's weird." She said, jutting her chin towards the window. "He never closes his blinds."

"Yeah, he likes to watch us work." Reid stated matter-of-factly.

"Us?" Morgan snorted before passing a look over at Emily, who narrowed her eyes. "Nah, Reid, not us."

"You have to be joking." Emily rolled her eyes, but she couldn't ignore the small blush that was coloring her fair cheeks. She and Hotch weren't involved, especially since his split with Haley was still extremely fresh, but their friendship had grown leaps and bounds in a very short amount of time. When she joined the team about a year ago, she could never have guessed that Hotch would have voluntarily wanted to talk with her, much less be in the same room with her outside of a professional capacity, but now she found that she was almost as close with him as she was with Morgan, Reid, or JJ even. He was incredibly easy to talk to, and he sometimes she felt like he would try to get her to open up about what was going on in her life just to make sure she was okay. Emily really didn't enjoy being examined in such an intimate way, but it was nice when he'd stop her by the coffee pot and ask her about her weekend.

Not to mention that she had actually felt heavy tension a few times during their conversations, and not the bad kind. Sometimes, she felt like their language and body movement was so charged that everyone had to notice. She couldn't be the only one.

"Just playin'." Morgan smiled, and Emily gently punched his upper arm.

"Good. I don't trust your matchmaker abilities."

"You're cutting me deep, Princess." He said, grasping his chest in faux pain, which only gifted him another eye roll from Emily.

"Agent Prentiss?"

At the sound of Strauss's voice, Emily felt her stomach churn. She and her Section Chief really hadn't had a good start, considering Strauss had only hired her to get Hotch fired, and even though that was smoothed over, things were still quite icy between the two women. And if she was calling her into Hotch's office with closed blinds and an official looking stranger, it seemed like a pretty big deal.

Emily turned towards Strauss, who was leaning out of Hotch's office, waving her hand to beckon Emily over.

"What'd you do." Reid asked again in monotone; not truly engaged in what was happening.

"Nothing." Emily hissed, feeling on edge as she left her files on her desk before striding over to the steps that lead up to Hotch's office. As she approached, she felt Strauss's eyes rake over her frame, and Emily was suddenly aware of the length and tight fit of her simple black dress.

"Ma'am?" She replied sincerely once she reached where Strauss was hovering.

"Come in, please."

The anxiety that was brewing in Emily's core suddenly plummeted, sending cold fear down her thighs. Was she getting fired? She hadn't done anything questionable, maybe it was budget cuts? Maybe she had done something and she just didn't realize...

Emily forced herself to swallow and nod before pulling her shoulders back and gliding into Hotch's office with one step.

She was immediately off-put by the energy in the room. Hotch was standing in front of his desk, his brow furrowed, arms crossed in front of his chest. The mystery man was planted near the window, his back leaning against the smooth walls of the interior, a smooth manila folder clutched in his hand.

Emily shot Hotch a look, but his expression didn't reveal anything except for a small lift of his eyebrow. He could tell she was nervous.

"Agent Prentiss, I presume?" The man in the suit said, his voice flat and slightly cold. Emily felt his eyes do a once-over on her and she subconsciously tugged at the hem of her dress, attempting to make the skirt length reach down to a more modest cut.

Pulling her shoulders back, she tipped her head in acknowledgment. "Yes, sir, may I ask who you are?"

The man twisted his mouth and moved from his position on the wall, passing a glance over to Strauss and Hotch who were standing across the room. Emily's cheeks burned at the silent communication that she was obviously not privy to, but she stood up straight and tried to watch the man with an expressionless gaze.

Who the hell was this guy?

"Are you sure about this?" The man said, his eyes running over Emily again, but definitely wasn't talking to her.

Hotch didn't reply if the question was aimed at him, he just kept his arms crossed and his mouth shut.

"Yes, this is the best option for the situation. I can assure you that Agent Prentiss is more than qualified for this." Strauss answered finally, turning her back to Emily whilst talking about her as if she wasn't in the room.

Emily's patience broke.

"Not to be rude or interrupt anything but, what exactly are we talking about?"

All three of them seemed to share a look that was once again not meant for Emily. She was trying not to let her frustration win, but every second that they kept her in the dark was a second that she'd have to stay after quitting time to make up the work she was missing out on right now. She ground the tip of her heel into the carpet, reminding herself that she would only make things worse by saying something.

"Agent Prentiss, my name is Peter Carrison, and I work in the State Department as a Foreign Service Officer. Do you know what that means?"

Emily left air out her nose. She was really trying not to scoff. Her mother was an Ambassador, she knew exactly how the State Department worked; a little too well even. The condescending tone of Carrison wasn't really helping with her patience either.

"Yes, sir. My mother worked very closely with Foreign Service Officers throughout her career."

Carrison just bobbed his head, and took a step closer to her, stuffing his free hand in his pocket. "Good. Chief Strauss and Agent Hotchner tell me you're multilingual, and you have a specialty with Arabic-based languages, is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct." Emily replied, raising her eyebrow at Hotch. Her boss once again deflected her attempt for subtle conversation, and she was struck with how truly uncomfortable he was. It was seriously throwing her off.

"Excellent." Carrison said, but his tone was still very even. "Alright Agent Prentiss, Agent Hotchner, please take a seat."

Emily wanted to ask an abundance of questions, but she had a feeling she was about to get an earful and all her inquiries would be answered soon. She settled into the couch near the wall of Hotch's office, where he had sat first and wiggled over to make room for her.

She accidentally brushed her thigh against his knuckles as she crossed her legs at the knee, and she immediately noted how he was slow to pull his hand back, but once he had he clutched it tightly in his lap. Emily wasn't really one for profiling her teammates, but Derek was right. Hotch had been giving her a little extra attention lately, and while it was nothing sexual, much less romantic, she could feel a tug in their relationship that hadn't been there before.

Strauss and Carrison pulled up the stiff-straight office chairs across from the sofa and adjusted the placement so all four of them were in a tightly knit group.

"Now, Agent Prentiss, I already explained what I'm about to tell you to both Chief Strauss and Agent Hotchner, but just because I'm revealing this to you last doesn't mean you're any less important for what I'm asking of." He cleared his throat and rested the folder on his lap.

"Okay."

He exchanged a fleeting look with Strauss before clearing his throat yet again. "Recently, the conflict between Al Qaeda and our troops has calmed, relatively. There have been a decrease in deaths in the past month and there hasn't been a major loss of civilian life in a few weeks. That doesn't mean that nothing is going on, but there has been a slight lull in activity."

Emily wrinkled her brow, her mind working furiously to try to figure out where the man was going with this before he got to the point.

"However, two nights ago, a military officer; Sergeant Brown was abducted from a Baghdad market place in broad daylight, no trace of evidence and no witnesses, surprisingly. Other members of his battalion said that he had gone down to patrol a block slightly out of sight and hadn't come back. Now, this sort of thing happens quite often to troops, but usually during combat and not in the middle of the day in a busy city square. The Army was going to handle this in house like it does normally, that was until the Sergeant's body was found in an alleyway not 24 hours later, with this note attached to his tattered clothing."

Carrison removed a photo from his folder and handed it over to Emily. She ran her fingertips over the slippery edges of the photograph before focusing on the words depicted on a small slip of paper encased in a plastic evidence bag.

It read: No Good.

"What does that mean?" Emily questioned, focusing in on the edges of the paper. They were torn and bloody, as if someone had wiped their gory hands all over the slip before attaching it to Brown.

"We're not sure. And the fact that it's in English makes us think that Al Qaeda might not be responsible, and if they are then it means that either they're using someone fluent in English to be a mediator of sorts or a native English speaker is helping on their grounds. Using this information, the officers in charge contacted the State Department, and we dug around just a bit to see if we could uncover anything helpful, and it turns out that a tiny but noticeable number of Baghdad's population has suddenly disappeared, no deaths, no bodies, nothing. We're fearing the worst, that Al Qaeda might not be at fault and there might be an even larger threat looming for not only the troops overseas but everyone here at home as well."

"What was the cause of death?"

Carrison sighed. "That's the thing, we don't know. He has defensive wounds all over and there were traces of skin under his nails, but the DNA evidence was inconclusive. Nothing showed up in the toxicology report either."

Emily cocked her head. "So, do we need a profile? Is that what this is about?"

Carrison glanced over to Hotch, who wasn't giving anything away. Emily felt a knot pull in the pit of her stomach. She was getting an idea of why Carrison had asked her about her linguistic abilities when they had first called her in.

"There is a small task-force being assembled to work on this murder and recent disappearances without disturbing military activity. The government is pulling a few people from the CIA, ex-Marines, and they requested we add criminal profilers to the mix."

Emily whipped her head over to Hotch, her dark tendrils falling over her shoulders. "Hotch, what's going on?"

For the first time since she had been in the room, her boss spoke. "Prentiss, it's alright, just listen to him."

She bit her lip anxiously, feeling her palms begin to sweat and the muscles in her calves tighten. Why couldn't Carrison just cut to the chase already?

"Both you and Agent Hotchner have been requested by name to join this task-force. You would be staying on an army base with American troops outside of Baghdad, but you'd only be working with the other members of your team. There's no set time estimate for this, but we're expecting it to be resolved in a timely manner."

"So...you're asking Agent Hotchner and I to uproot our lives and go to Iraq? When?"

"Prentiss." Strauss scolded from her spot, barely lifting her eyes.

"You would be departing from Dulles next Monday at 5pm. The trip has a connecting flight in Spain, and altogether the trip would be around 16 hours. Travel expenses are taken care of, except for transportation to the airport." Carrison answered, his voice never raising an octave.

"Is this required?" Emily asked, making sure to keep the sting out of her words. She wasn't trying to be difficult, truly, she was mostly just at a loss. She could understand why they would want Hotch, and she supposed her language experience would make her appealing, but this was a lot to ask.

Well, she supposed, looking down at the photograph again, there was a lot at stake.

Carrison cleared his throat for a third time. "Well, no, but I don't think the Director would be delighted to hear you turned down something like this. Plus, Agent Hotchner has already agreed to go."

Emily shot a look over to her boss, who was watching her now. Well, at least she knew why he had been so pissed when she had entered his office.

"I'm also required to let you know you would be the single female agent working in a highly male-centric base with male team members. I'm actually almost positive no female troops are stationed there at the moment, considering the base is very small in size. I have no doubts that you'll be perfectly safe, though. You're a capable woman and you're in good hands."

Emily didn't miss how Hotch tensed at Carrison's disclaimer. That twitch was enough to tell her that her presence had been a topic of debate, and that Hotch was wary of bringing her into something like this.

Half of her was happy that he was thinking critically and looking out for her, but the other half flared with annoyance. She WAS more than capable, she was well aware of that.

She shook her head and picked at her thumb nail viciously. The case was intriguing, and it had the possibility to be highly dangerous. They wouldn't have asked her if they didn't think so, that she knew for sure.

"I..." She started, cutting off when she glanced back down at the picture resting on the hem of her dress. The fiery crimson almost burned her irises.

"Okay." She said finally, her voice hardly audible. "Okay, I'll go."

Carrison offered her what seemed to be his version of a triumphant smirk.

"I'm pleased to hear that Agent Prentiss. It's good to have you on board."

...

Strauss and Carrison left shortly after giving Hotch and Emily the specifics on their traveling details and housing situation, and Emily had to admit she was beginning to regret agreeing to anything considering the sheer amount of pressure that was being placed on she and Hotch's shoulders. It's not like she couldn't handle it; her previous assignments in the CIA had steeled her for some of the most grisly BAU cases, and she knew this would be nothing different, just on a larger scale.

With more at stake.

And more of a chance that she wouldn't return in one piece.

Emily hadn't exited Hotch's office with the others, she was rooted in her spot on the couch, running her eyes over the photograph absent-mindedly. She sensed that Hotch wanted to talk once they had left, but she was starting to doubt her ability to have any semblance of a real conversation.

"I'm sorry."

Emily peered up at her boss, who had gotten up from next to her and was now sitting directly in front of her. He wasn't nearly as rigid as he had been about five minutes ago, but he was still holding tension in his body, and the way his jaw locked after his apology told Emily that he was anxious; probably just as much as she was.

She snorted slightly and shook her head. "For what? You didn't do anything."

"I could have told them to find someone else."

"Hotch, it's fine. I understand. I'll be fine." She lifted her eyes to study his expression. He was staring into her, his arms folded across his chest.

"Besides," she said as she crossed her legs again, "nothing's going to happen to me as long as you're there, not with the way you tend to hover."

Any other day, Emily would have never have said something like that to Hotch, considering she could easily get in serious trouble for the most innocent of comments. But he was worried, not only about her, but about himself too, and Emily figured at least trying to lighten the mood couldn't do any harm.

"I don't hover."

She was rewarded with a small but genuine grin.

"A little bit."

"It's my job to hover."

She raised her eyebrow. "Okay, maybe you got me there."

"Are you sure you're alright with this?"

"Yeah," she nodded, lifting her gaze back up to meet his, "it'll be like camp."

"Yeah, camp."

Emily sighed, sliding the picture back into the folder that Carrison had left for reference, and pushed off the squishy cushion of the sofa that had formed around her body, smoothing down the skirt of her dress just in case.

"So, I guess I should finish all those reports before we leave." She said.

Hotch half-grinned again, knowing full well how much she and Morgan suffered during office days. "Yeah, finish what you can, if there's any left we'll give them to Reid, he looks pretty bored down there with his crossword."

Emily smiled. Sometimes she forgot how in tune Hotch was with every member of the team. He just knew.

"Prentiss." He called after her as she was beginning to walk out the door again. "I'll pick you up when we leave. You're on the way to the airport anyways, it'll just make things easier when we get back."

She nodded in agreement.

"Okay."

...


	2. Italian Subs and Tropical Beaches

Truthfully, Emily was a snob.

She had tried to avoid all stereotypical behavior that would be expected of someone who grew up in an extremely privileged household. Emily hated the extra attention, and in reality it made her feel guilty for having so much when there were so many people more deserving of her wealth who had nothing.

But one thing she allowed herself to be a snob about was being driven around.

Maybe in hindsight her dislike of being chauffeured made her the exact opposite of a snob, but with each passing moment that Hotch refused to pass someone who was going incredibly slow in the left lane (for god's sake), or how he hadn't changed the radio station from the deafening yodeling of some western singer, she was definitely feeling an attitude coming on.

"For someone who is incredibly good at hiding their emotions, you are so easy to read when you're annoyed."

Emily lifted her head from where she had been resting her chin in her hands, and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You haven't stopped digging your nails into your jeans since this song came on, you're grinding your teeth, and you've sighed about every five minutes. Plus, the eye rolling gives you away pretty easily."

She scoffed. "What happened to not profiling team members?"

He replied with a smirk. "Like I said, you were making it too easy."

"I don't roll my eyes."

"Yes you do. I don't even think you're aware when you do it, but sometimes when we're on cases and one of the LEOs says something you don't hold back."

Emily felt her cheeks flush. "Oh my god, why didn't you ever tell me! I'm a horrible person."

"No, just a little impatient." He smiled, pulling his eyes off the road and settling them on her once they reached a stoplight.

Emily had been slightly surprised when he had pulled up to her apartment complex earlier. For some reason, she had expected Hotch to be dressed in his usual suit and tie (even though she knew that was illogical, Hotch wore real clothes too) and seeing him in a simple polo shirt and khakis had thrown her off, almost like when she was little and would see one of her teachers somewhere in public. Even his dark hair; which was normally gelled to perfection, was ruffled and unruly. She couldn't really pass judgment, though, considering it was probably equally as weird for Hotch to see her with minimal makeup and her natural curls.

Sure, it was weird, but it made her feel like she was with a friend as opposed to someone who could technically fire her on a whim.

"You ready?" He asked in a gentle voice. They were one stoplight away from the parking deck of the airport, and Emily had to admit she was feeling some butterflies and jitters deep in her stomach, but admittedly half of them were coming from the fact that she was still self-conscious around Hotch when they were alone together. Despite the fact that they weren't on the job yet, she felt the need to impress him with everything.

She had good ol' mom to thank for that trait.

Speaking of her mother, she hadn't exactly had the best parting conversation with the Ambassador. Considering her father had been killed during combat in Vietnam (right near the tail end of the war; if he had lasted another month he would still be at home with his family), her mother hadn't been keen on sending her only daughter into a war-zone. For once, Emily understood where her mother's worry was coming from, but she wasn't her father, and as much as she missed him, she knew he'd want her to do this, and be smart about it.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah."

Emily paused, wondering if she should even ask about Jack. She was aware that Haley had custody over the boy, and Hotch rarely saw his son thanks to the job and the split, so she wasn't even entirely sure her boss had seen his son before departing earlier today.

"How did Jack take it?"

Well, she was never one for beating around the bush she supposed.

Hotch chuckled, and Emily knew she had made the right move by asking.

"He reacted about the same way Morgan did yesterday when we told the team."

Emily bit her lip masking a smile. After she, Strauss, and Hotch had alerted the BAU of what was going on, Derek had basically cornered them in the conference room and made them promise that there would be no heroic sacrifices and no brave displays of loyalty that could ultimately result in death. He was exaggerating, of course, but Emily had to admit out of anyone on the team (besides Derek himself), the two most likely to do something stupidly heroic went to her and Hotch.

"I'll miss them." She said absent-mindedly, watching the trees blur together and spin above the sunroof as Hotch took a sharp turn into the entrance of the airport parking lots. She hadn't really allowed herself to be upset about leaving the BAU for such an indefinite period of time, but thinking back to her emotional goodbyes with JJ and Garcia last night over half-priced margaritas was starting to choke her up. It wasn't the fact that she wouldn't be working with them for a while, it was the possibility that she wouldn't see them for months on end, and things could be completely different by the time she got back.

Not to mention that both this assignment and all the BAU cases were highly dangerous, so everyone was constantly at risk.

"I know, me too."

The spot that Hotch found to park in wasn't too far, but far enough that Emily could enjoy the fresh air before being stuck in a stuffy plane for 13 hours before they even got to their first connection. She was already dreading the crying children and the snoring that was bound to be loud during a red eye flight.

Hotch closed the driver-side door and popped the trunk, unloading all of Emily's bags much to her irritation.

"Remember how you said you can tell when I'm annoyed."

He snorted lightheartedly. "A thank you would be sufficient, Prentiss."

She over-dramatically rolled her eyes before slinging her bags over her shoulder and gripping the handle of her remaining rolling suitcase. This was really happening, it was really time for them to go.

Hotch let her walk in front, trailing behind to lock the car and take one longing glance back at the road that lead them here before picking up his bags and following Emily towards the entrance of the building complex.

...

It was pretty crowded for a Monday. Men in charcoal suits and suede shoes seemed to dominate the premise, with the occasional casual shirt or pencil skirt thrown into the mix. Hotch went over the details of their flight in his head while trailing Emily, who had started to slow her pace for Hotch to catch up.

They had some time to kill since they had checked their baggage and made sure they knew where their gate was after suffering in the security line for so long. He was hungry, and he could tell by the way Emily was chewing on the inside of her cheek that she was trying to distract herself from her own hunger.

"Prentiss, wanna grab a bite before we have to take off? I don't know what kind of food they'll have on the flight."

"Yes!" She practically cut him off, her sleepy eyes suddenly wide awake. "I didn't want to ask first but please."

Hotch shook his head. Emily was confusing for him. She was so stern and had a glare that could turn the most threatening men to stone, but she was so skittish and insecure about other things; for example telling him that she was hungry. He knew it stemmed from something deeper, and considering he knew her mother it was understandable, but he was hoping this mission would at least soften some things between himself and her.

"Cafe?" He replied, scanning the surrounding area. They had passed a small coffee shop before their gate, and knowing Emily she would be down for basically anything.

She just nodded and practically took off towards the direction of the store, Hotch hot on her heels.

The restaurant was simple, but as soon as they stepped into it, Hotch was welcomed with the captivating scent of freshly brewed coffee and hardy sandwiches that only made his stomach growl louder. Plus, it was almost completely empty, which was a great addition considering Hotch was not up for dealing with the mass of humanity more than he needed to today.

"Good choice." Emily said, walking over to the counter to survey the menu. As he followed her, he accidentally bumped her side while reading the options. Emily didn't seem to notice, and if she did she didn't think anything of it, but Hotch had to resist from drawing back like he had just touched fire. He didn't know what the hell was his problem lately, but whenever he even came close to having physical contact with Prentiss, he would begin to notice everything about her, like the way she ran her fingers through her tangled hair or the way that her shirt was bunched up around her waist right now, revealing the slightest strip of creamy skin, contrasting against her low-rise jeans.

And once he realized he was looking down at her hips, he decided that it would be in his best interest to stop.

"What can I get you?" A voice drew Hotch away from his thoughts and back to reality, where a younger man was standing behind the counter, his eyes focused on Emily, who was still surveying the menu.

"Hmm...can I just get the Italian sub and a soft drink?" She finally replied. Hotch wasn't surprised. She and Morgan often quarreled over who got the remainder of Rossi's sub that he brought for lunch almost everyday and never finished, and Emily almost always won.

"You most certainly can."

Hotch didn't miss the inflection in the man's voice when he talked to Emily. There were some things that Hotch had picked up ever since he had become a profiler, and one of them was the ability to tell when a man was interested in a woman just by the way he started talking, and this man's voice was dripping with the intention of something a bit heavier than just flirting.

"Can I have a name for your order?" He asked.

"Emily."

He nodded and grinned, and Hotch waited for the inevitable pass that was going to be coming from him any moment.

"A pretty name for a pretty lady."

There it was.

Emily's eyebrow went up and she smiled, but along with the fact that he was keen on knowing when a man was trying to flirt, Hotch also knew when a woman wasn't interested. And Emily really just wanted her sandwich.

He almost felt bad for the guy.

"So, you going on vacation?" He didn't give up though.

Emily sighed. "Sorta."

"Somewhere warm? You seem like a beach girl."

"Why is that?" Emily asked, and Hotch tried to conceal a chuckle. Yeah, now he felt bad for the guy.

"Uhh..." The man almost blushed and guffawed, obviously caught off guard by Emily's bluntness. He finally settled on making a hand gesture towards her figure, and Emily smiled and shook her head.

"That's what I thought." She took a plastic cup from the counter and began to move away from her spot. "Sorry, I don't like the beach."

The employee was recovering from his wildly blushing face when he finally turned to Hotch.

"And for you, sir?"

Hotch turned his full attention back to the man behind the counter, who seemed to be trying his hardest to see if Emily was with Hotch or not (somehow he wasn't completely discouraged). Hotch resisted the urge to pull an Emily and roll his eyes. She would be furious if she knew that the employee was trying to size up Hotch as competition after what she had said, especially since she seemed completely disinterested in what was going on at the moment.

"I'll have the same thing she's having." Hotch tilted his head towards Emily, who responded with a good natured eye roll (shocker).

"Can't think for yourself, Hotch?" She smirked, filling her cup to the brim with cola.

"Apparently not."

Her devilish smirk transformed into a small grin and the man behind the counter finally got the idea. Once their sandwiches were ready (which was quick after the flirting ceased), they were able to escape the restaurant without any more pick-up line fiascoes and the two profilers headed towards their gate.

"So, Hotch, you going on vacation?" Emily teased, her voice muffled from the bite of sub she still had in her mouth.

"Yeah, I'm totally a beach girl if thats what you're asking and I can really rock a two-piece."

She laughed; a genuine one, a laugh that Hotch had seldom heard from Emily, covering her mouth with the back of her hand that wasn't clutching her sub and closing her eyes almost completely. He wasn't really sure why he was bantering back and forth with her; but they way she looked at him, like he was a normal person for once, or maybe even her friend, made him never want to stop.

"Oh man, we really made the wrong call leaving the gate." She said as they approached the chairs they had been hanging around earlier. It had really filled up, since the flight would be boarding soon, but it was going to be a bitch waiting in that line.

"Maybe we should flash our credentials."

She giggled again, wiping a tiny drop of mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth. "Good use of them, I'm sure Strauss would approve."

"Hey, she's not in charge of us for the mission, we are rogue." He joked, and Emily shook her head in disbelief.

"Even though you're kidding, I never imagined hearing those words leave your mouth."

He shrugged, letting the roar of conversation around them envelop the quiet that fell while Emily's attention was drawn elsewhere.

Hotch had been devastated when he found out Haley had left him, and even though he knew it was his fault, he hadn't really forgiven her for leaving him alone and taking Jack with her. He was aware of how hypocritical this was, considering the many nights she slept in a cold bed while he was miles away losing sleep over criminals who sometimes were never caught, he hadn't realized how deep the void he felt was when there was no one at home with him, and how easily his loneliness would sweep over him like a flood. But the way Emily had laughed with him, had smiled at him, and the way she was scooting closer to him subconsciously to avoid the strangers around them, because he was familiar to her, made him feel less alone. It didn't mean much, but someone appreciated being with him. And it on top of that it was Emily, who had never really warmed up to him until recently.

He glanced down in her direction. She had finished her sandwich and was gazing over at a little girl and her mother, who were hanging out near the far wall. Her broad shoulders had slumped, and she was almost leaning her back against his chest if she relaxed a hair more. For Emily, this wasn't a big deal, she was an incredibly tactile person, but had always seemed to shy away from Hotch when she first joined, but for Hotch, this was unheard of. He was close with everyone on his team, but there was just an unspoken rule that they could be friends, but not too close. No casual hugging or explicit joking, nothing like that.

Lost in his head, Hotch studied the way her hair twisted down in between her shoulders, and how the dark curls twisted in every which way across her stark white shirt, and how every time she moved her head, the vanilla scent of her shampoo would waft in his direction, and his nostalgia for Sunday mornings with Haley's head tucked under his chin as they laid in bed only came back stronger.

He was almost thankful when the flight attendants announced it was time to board, and he ushered Emily (who had become very sleepy in a short amount of time) in front of him. Their seats were coach, three across, but Hotch knew she'd be able to sleep once they were in the air, and he couldn't tell if he was annoyed or relieved that they wouldn't have to talk if she wasn't awake.

Emily managed to worm her way into the window seat before Hotch realized she had snatched it from him.

"What?" She said innocently. "We can switch for the next flight."

"Yeah, except this flight is 13 hours long and the second one is only 2, seems fair."

She shrugged. "You took too long."

Their seat mate wasn't as bad as Hotch was expecting, considering the second the business man sat down next to them he slipped headphones over his ears and relaxed into his seat, so Hotch figured he could deal with the middle seat. Emily's eyes were drooping more and more as the seconds passed, and Hotch felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. He knew she didn't have the healthiest sleeping schedule, and she was probably too stressed last night to get a good night's rest. Why hadn't he checked up on her? He had been awake too.

"Why don't you try to sleep, Prentiss." His tone softened as she turned her face over to the sound of his voice, her eyelashes fluttering slowly as she blinked back the sleep in her eyes.

"It's hard for me to relax." She admitted, and Hotch noted how she almost sounded a little exasperated, like her insomnia was more of a slight irritation instead of a big problem.

"Well, does anything help you usually?" Hotch noted how the plane had begun to move forward, and he sent up a silent prayer that this flight wouldn't be as long as he was expecting it to be.

"I don't know."

He met eyes with Emily, who was blinking up at him with her full lashes. He sighed and settled back into his seat as the plane took off into the air.

"You know what I used to do with Jack to help him sleep?"

The corners of her lips tugged up a little. "What?"

"Curl your toes."

Emily snorted. "This isn't going to be some awful flirting tactic like our friend from the cafe is it?"

Hotch felt his cheeks color when he realized what his statement could imply. "No, I promise, it helps. Curl your toes and hold it for a few seconds, then release. Try to regulate your breaths with it."

Emily narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but he smiled as he saw her toes wiggle in her stylish boots.

"You're bullshitting me." She grinned, her tone strung out from exhaustion.

"No, you have to try." Hotch chuckled, watching her face as she focused on curling her toes and releasing with her breathing. Just as he assumed, in a few minutes, Emily twitched, signaling she was finally drifting off. Her head lolled to the side, and with the way she was holding her body, Hotch knew she'd wake up with some killer neck pain.

He decided he could get her to sleep again if he woke her from readjusting her head, so he gently reached over and stabilized her head before pushing her shoulders down a little bit more. She stirred, and cracked her eyes open.

"What are you doing?" She whispered, her sleep-ridden words almost lost in the hum of the plane's engines and the soft chatter from the cabin.

"You were going to be sore sleeping like that." He whispered back, realizing that she hadn't jerked back from where his palm was holding the back of her neck.

She smiled, and squirmed around slightly so her body was more in-line rather than in a 90 degree angle. "Thank you."

He was finally able to relax as soon as Emily's breathing went even again.


	3. Primary Introductions

If she hadn't been fully disgruntled with the general population before this trip, Emily definitely was now.

They had finally gotten off their final flight, and even though it had only been two hours, it seemed to last forever. After the first flight, she had woken up with her head resting against Hotch's shoulder, and he had most definitely been awake and didn't move her, which was embarrassing enough to begin with. Then, when they were checking into the Qatar airport and going through security, Emily had set off the metal detector and had to sheepishly admit in front of Hotch that she had some piercings that were potentially causing the machine to go off, and after a pat-down they were free to go. Hotch had just raised an eyebrow, and Emily had simply muttered something about going back in time and kicking her college-self in the ass. The wait time between the first and second flight had been smooth, but the real test of patience began on the brief flight from Qatar to Baghdad.

When the plane first took off, Emily had made the most of her time by teaching Hotch a few words in Arabic, then a few in Farsi, then a few Kurdish. It didn't really matter if he was actually absorbing anything, because every time he tried to repeat her he would trip over the syllables and Emily would get a kick out of it. Hotch had to admit he was enjoying himself too.

Emily eventually ran out of basic phrases to teach, and it seemed in that exact moment, all the children on the plane seemed to throw a hissy fit all at the same time.

When they had landed in Baghdad, she wasn't sure she had ever been so happy to be anywhere in her life. Hotch's facial expressions conveyed the same sentiment.

They had collected their luggage relatively quickly and were now milling around in the general lobby of the massive airport. The morning sun was pouring in through the windows, and Emily winced as it struck her eyes. She was still dead tired. Apparently, Carrison had given Hotch the photographs of their teammates who would be picking them up from the airport, but Emily had no clue who to look for. She was mostly there to translate the signs for her boss.

Hotch was on full alert mode though, and he had been keeping her pretty close to him ever since they landed. Emily had been bothered when he first started to hover, but she eventually just got used to it. He didn't mean to be patronizing, he was just doing what he did best; protecting. They were somewhere unfamiliar, and it wasn't necessarily a peaceful place all the time.

Emily had managed to wander away from Hotch for a few moments, she was still close enough to him so he could see her, but far enough for there to be a considerable amount of distance between them. She wasn't naive, and she kept her eyes peeled while searching the crowd for men who fit the descriptions of their new team members Hotch had given her moments ago.

Suddenly, a weight pushed down slightly on her shoulder, like someone had just laid their hand on her back and squeezed. Every fiber of her being suddenly went cold with panic, and she knew what had happened immediately caught Hotch's attention because he was off the wall in an instant.

Making the decision to turn around and properly assess what was going on before knocking someone on their ass, Emily squared herself and faced the owner of the hand.

"Agent Prentiss? I hope so, because if not its completely my mistake ma'am."

She let out a sigh of relief right as Hotch had stepped beside her, all ferocity gone. He smiled and extended his hand to the man standing in front of Emily and himself.

As Hotch introduced himself, Emily ran her eyes over the person standing in front of her. He was tall, maybe an inch or so shorter than Hotch, and his skin was tanned, with obvious signs of sunburn. He was no rookie to this, and Emily had to put his age around 50 or so, considering his close cropped hair was silver and slight wrinkles creased across his face. He definitely had military experience; Emily could tell just by the way he held himself. He seemed stern and hardened, but something about his blueish-green gaze told her that he wasn't a cruel man because of this.

"It's good to finally meet you, Agents. I apologize for my frightening introduction, but you can call me Agent James Royce; CIA, your commanding officer."

Emily was extremely glad she hadn't knocked him on his ass now.

"It's so nice to meet you too, sir. This is Agent Prentiss, as you found out a few moments ago." Hotch said.

"Agent Prentiss." Royce firmly grasped her hand and shook it harder than Emily was expecting. "To be honest, when I saw they pulled you for this mission I was a little surprised, but I have to say your file is incredible."

Emily's brow furrowed, and she reminded herself to keep first introductions simple and non-confrontational. The misogynistic micro-aggressions (probably unintended) would have to be let go for the moment.

"Thank you. It's good to be here." Emily lied through her teeth, hardening her handshake and plastering a tight grin on her face. She would much rather be in bed, or even in the Bullpen doing paperwork.

"Glad to hear it. How was the flight?"

Emily shook her head and Hotch snorted. "It was as good as a 13 hour red-eye can be."

"Understandable. Well, we have a lot to do later on in the day, and I'm sure you two want to be settled before anything else goes on, so why don't we head out? Rivers is outside in the car waiting for us."

"Rivers?" Hotch asked, lifting his bags onto his back.

"One of the team members. Ex-Marine, intense guy. He's great." Royce replied, ushering Emily and Hotch towards the door with a jut of his chin.

"Great." Emily muttered underneath her breath, just loud enough for Hotch to hear from where they were trailing Royce. "If there's anything you and I don't need, it's more intensity."

"Guess we'll have to turn ours down for a bit." Hotch joked, fully amused when Emily rolled her eyes in response.

When Emily stepped out of the airport she was greeted with the noises that she had associated with her childhood homes in Cairo and Khobar. The constant bustle of street traffic reminded her of the packed roads back in DC, and the dry air she had become so accustomed to breathing in while growing up filled her mouth as she took a deep breath and allowed herself to enjoy the city before her.

"What?" Hotch asked, noticing her sudden change of behavior.

She sighed and looked up at him, crinkling her eyes with a sad smile. "It reminds me of Cairo. I know they're not really anything alike, but I miss it."

She knew she wasn't going to get to enjoy the city, though. The base was quite a few miles away from Baghdad, and she doubted any of her trips into the main center of this area would be for anything other than a dangerous mission. So, she just took her time soaking in whatever she could as the trio walked up to a large black SUV with tinted windows sitting on the curb. Royce rapped on the passenger's side window and within seconds, the trunk popped open for Hotch and Emily's luggage.

Once the car was loaded, Royce opened the back doors for the agents to climb in, and he returned to his own seat beside the driver.

"Agent Hotchner, Agent Prentiss, this is Bruce Rivers, one of our ex-Marines. Rivers, these are the FBI profilers from Virginia I was telling you about."

The man in the driver seat turned around, and Royce's warning about the intensity proved to be true. Rivers was probably about the same size as Hotch and Royce, but the way he stared back into Hotch and Emily, he seemed like he was 100 times larger than everyone else. Either that, or Emily felt like shrinking into the seat and disappearing.

He was just as white as Royce, his skin even more fair then Emily's when she hadn't been out in the sun for a while, and if she had to estimate age she'd put him in as younger than Royce but older than Hotch. In contrast to both Hotch and Royce's clean shaven haircuts, Rivers had a mess of light brown hair that was beginning to grey in wisps around his face.

"Ah, the fortune tellers. Bruce Rivers, nice to meetcha." He said, and despite the subtle dig at their profession his voice remained generally flat. Emily had always thought Hotch was uptight, but next to Rivers, Hotch seemed like Garcia all decked out in her rainbow attire.

"Pleasure is all ours." Hotch nodded.

Rivers turned his gaze over to Emily and she resisted the urge to squirm around in her spot from discomfort. His eyes were almost grey; such a light color of blue that they appeared translucent, which made his stare that much more intense. It probably worked in his favor pretty often.

"So, you're the girl brave enough to come join us, huh?" He smiled, but Emily couldn't decipher if it was sarcastic or genuine.

"Just part of the job." She said, replying with an equally unsteady grin, trying to test the possibly choppy waters.

"That's impressive, a lot of women get roughed up around here pretty bad, in a much crueler way than the men do; trust me, I served a few tours between here and Iran, but respect to you for taking it on, you must have a lot of guts."

Emily's smile faltered for a moment and she heard Hotch take a deep inhale, as if he was going to diffuse any situation that would explode from the exchange.

"Please, I have no doubts Agent Prentiss will be fine." Royce replied, sending Rivers a quick look before the younger man put the car in drive and began to move. "Many women have done just fine here, it won't be any different."

"Oh of course, I didn't mean to worry you." Rivers said, checking his rear view mirror before crossing a busy street. The SUV shuddered as the wheels turned over potholes and cracks, making the already bumpy ride unbearable for Emily's empty stomach.

"Oh, you're fine, don't worry about it." She responded, glancing out of the window at the passing landscape to avoid Hotch's eyes that she could feel boring into the side of her head. Her complete avoidance of any conversation had worked in her advantage, because as soon as Rivers and Royce started to turn their attentions to Hotch, Emily drifted off for a little bit, leaning her face against her wrist propped up against the arm rest, practicing curling her toes like Hotch had told her to.

She wasn't really sure how long she'd been out, because it had been more of a hazy nap than any type of substantial sleep, but once she felt the car slow for the first time in a while, she perked her head up and blinked the remaining exhaustion from her blurry vision.

Turning to Hotch, she stretched her arms above her head and yawned. "Where are we?"

"Close." He said, the corners of his lips turning up. "You were out fast."

"Kinda, I didn't really fall asleep."

"Good thing you're rested, Agent Prentiss. I was just telling Agent Hotchner how I'd like to assess physical fitness and skills once we get to the base. Thankfully, our operations will be actually running out of a base, and not one of those awful camps that they force active duty soldiers to live in. Now those, are really hell." Royce said, and Emily raised an eyebrow at the mention of physical fitness tests. It's not like she wasn't prepared, but part of her wondered if the only reason they would be doing them is because her "capability" was in question.

"You've been on tour before?" Hotch asked, never missing a single detail.

"Yeah, for a little bit. A few years ago I was called down for a special raid against a cell operating somewhere near the Persian Gulf, but I was only posted there for about a month and a half, so nothing too serious."

"Not to backtrack, but what kinds of physical assessments are you referring to, sir?" Emily piped up, not missing the slight chuckle that came from Rivers' position behind the wheel.

"Oh, nothing major, but this mission is going to require some dedication and physical perseverance, so I just want to make sure everyone's on the same page." Royce answered non-nonchalantly. "Plus, it'll be an easy way for you two to get acquainted with our other member."

Emily nodded and glanced over at Hotch, who just raised his eyebrow. Maybe he wasn't too big on the idea either, and that sort of comforted her.

Within a few minutes, Rivers had pulled the SUV towards a sprawling building complex that almost resembled an elementary school in shape (despite the fact that it was completely barricaded with barbed wire fences and soldiers with semi-automatics) and once they were allowed to enter the area, he parked the vehicle in a make-shift lot near similar cars and massive tanks.

"Alright, we're here. She's not much to look at, but I promise this camp will treat you well." Rivers said, ripping the keys from the ignition and hopping out of the car and onto the sandy ground below. Once Emily and Hotch followed suit, Royce and Rivers had already collected most of their luggage and were helping the agents tow it towards the entrance to the building. Emily had lost her will to be annoyed at this point, and she was almost thankful for the assistance considering she didn't think she had the motivation to drag her sorry ass into the building along with the majority of her belongings.

The building inside wasn't much to look at either, Emily concluded as she entered it's doors. It had two very long hallways filled with what looked like rooms on either side, and fluorescent lighting that illuminated the dirt on the tile floors. There seemed to be a few common rooms, and there were two larger double doors at the end of one of the hallways that Emily assumed belonged to the makeshift gym.

Really, she couldn't decide if it looked more like a state penitentiary or her college dormitory. But if she was being honest, there wasn't much of a difference between those two things anyways.

One thing she did know though, was that she was going to have a bit of a rough time. The few men that had seen her enter the building were already sending looks between each other, and Emily really hoped it was mostly out of surprise. She hated feeling singled out, and she was definitely going to stand out here.

"Now, I hope you two don't mind, but considering we are encroaching on military property, we were asked if two to a room would be fine, and we said yes. So, if either of you have qualms about sharing personal space with each other, speak up now." Royce said, directing their attention over to where he was already walking down one of the long hallways with Rivers by his side.

Emily forcibly held her breath. The whole idea of sharing something so personal as a living space with Hotch was such an abstract concept to her that it seemed implausible, but another part of her was almost grateful she wouldn't have to be alone.

"That's fine with me." Hotch said, matter-of-factly, and Emily released her breath she had been stifling. She nodded in agreement.

"See, the beauty of having horrible sleep disorders is that I'm allowed to have my own room." Rivers teased, but his face still remained stoic.

"Really?" Emily asked, sort of shocked that he would reveal something so personal right off the bat, unless he just viewed that as no big deal, which was also telling.

"He's half joking. He does have his own space, but his room is half the size of the double rooms. Nothing special." Royce chuckled. "Hey, Rivers, why don't you go get Elliot and meet us in the fitness area? I'll get our mind-readers set up."

The man gave one final look in Emily and Hotch's direction before following the commanding officer's orders and disappearing down the hallway in the opposite direction.

"Alright, here is your room. Remember the room number because all these doors look the same, and here," Royce fished around in his pocket for a moment as they stopped halfway down the hallway in front of a wooden door, "are your keys. The brass one is for your room door. You each get a copy of it. Now, the silvery one belongs to you, Agent Prentiss. It's for the women's washroom. You have a full-sized locker room and shower area considering there used to be a few women on this base, but you will be the only one using it while you're here. In my opinion, it would be smart to always bring the key with you and lock the door behind you once you're in, just to be safe. Sometimes the boys here like to mess with each other and I don't think it would go over the same way with you...among other things."

Emily was caught off guard by Royce's candidness, and she could tell Hotch was too, because he had stiffened next to her.

"Agent Royce, there's no one we should worry about in terms of...that, here at the moment, correct?" He asked, and Emily's entire face started to burn. She couldn't believe that Hotch was actually asking about this on her behalf, and she was just glad Rivers had left.

"No, no one I'm aware of, but for cautionary measures."

"I understand." Emily cut off Hotch before he could ask anything else, and took the keys from Royce's hand. "So when should we meet you in the gym?"

If Royce was alarmed by her bluntness, he didn't show it. "As soon as you change into clothes you can work out in, but feel free to put your stuff down first. If you need anything in your room, let me know once you get down there."

Emily nodded politely and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Royce passed a look to Hotch before exiting in the same fashion that Rivers had.

"Why don't you open the door for us?" Hotch asked softly when Emily hadn't moved since Royce had handed over the keys. His tone made her flick her eyes up to his, and the concern painted on his face was subtle, but Hotch was a passionate man and it was hard for him to hide any emotion in his gaze. He was a little worried.

Emily just bit down on the inside of her lip and unlocked the door, dragging her stuff inside the room and then turning on the light switch near the entrance.

Two small lamps illuminated the dark room, and Emily almost smiled at the quaintness of the room. Two twin beds were pushed against either wall, across from each other. There were some storage compartments for personal items, and a beside stool next to each bed. A rusted sink was rooted into the farthest wall, and a slightly dirtied mirror hung above it. It was a lot better than she had been expecting.

"This actually isn't too bad." Hotch read her mind as usual.

"I was just thinking that."

He still hadn't stopped watching her like a hawk, and Emily exhaled and dropped her carry-on bag onto one of the beds before flopping down onto the bed and unzipping one of her suitcases.

"You don't have to look at me like that."

"Emily..."

The use of her first name grabbed her attention immediately. She halted her movements and watched as Hotch crossed the room and sat down next to her, keeping enough space between them for it to be professional, but not as much distance as there used to be.

"You don't have to pretend to be some emotion-less rock while we're here okay?"

"I'm never like that."

"Prentiss."

"It's not like that."

"I know you think you have something to prove, but trust me, you don't."

Emily ground her teeth and finally met his eyes for the first time since they had entered the room. He wasn't reprimanding her or even trying to prove her wrong, but he was genuinely concerned.

"Yes I do." She whispered, afraid if she said it any louder someone else would hear. "It doesn't matter how skilled I am, I will always have something to prove."

There was a small pause, and Emily wondered if pulling all her teeth out at once would be less painful than the silence she had caused.

"Okay. You can hold it together in front of everyone else, but I want you to try and promise me something."

"What?"

He sighed. "If you're having trouble, tell me. I won't say a word, and I won't help you or offer advice if you don't want me to, but please, just tell me. It'll make us both feel better."

Emily worked her jaw and debated for a moment. She knew he wasn't trying to patronize her and he was just being supportive, but her rebellious nature told her to run at any sign of admitting weakness. Still, if all he wanted to do was listen, she could do that, hopefully.

"Deal."

He pressed his lips into a sad grin and tipped his head. "Good."

"So, are we just going to close our eyes or is one of us going to change in the bathrooms?" Emily quickly changed the subject, continuing to unzip her suitcase.

"I'll go, you stay here."

For once, she didn't argue with him.

...


	4. Girls Just Wanna Throw Punches

Hotch truly couldn't believe his eyes when he walked back into the room.

Maybe it was because he had hardly ever seen Prentiss in anything other than slacks or a dress, but the second he caught sight of her he was floored.

She looked the same, objectively. She had tied her messy hair into a ponytail off of the nape of her neck and washed her face, but that wasn't what had gotten his attention.

A thin, form-fitting black tank top was fitted over her torso like a glove, her sports bra barely peeking out over the fabric. He had never even imagined that she'd own clothing that wasn't professional, but he didn't really mind being proven wrong at the moment.

The most shocking part, however, was the black ink that could be seen on her back, the majority of the design covered by her clothing. Nonetheless, Hotch could tell the tattoo was a good size, and the tips of it reached out towards the backs of her shoulders.

Part of him was so intrigued, and another part of him was wishing that Emily had worn more tank tops to work.

"You have a tattoo?"

She turned around, her big brown eyes blinking up at him. "Yeah, I have two."

"Really? Since when?"

"Since...I don't know...it's been a really long time."

"Whats the one on your back?" He asked after a short beat, wondering if it was even appropriate for him to be prying about something like this.

She smiled devilishly up at him, and he almost regretted asking the question.

"Nothing bad, if that's what you're assuming. It's a bird."

"That's a pretty big bird."

She laughed again, her beautiful teeth flashing and Hotch was really glad he asked. He had been seriously concerned for her earlier, and no matter how much he knew he wasn't supposed to be flirting (even so casually), it was obviously making her feel better.

"Yeah, it's pretty big. The other one is small though, so it balances out."

He forced himself not to think of all the places her tiny tattoo could be hiding, and instead smoothed the front of his FBI t shirt and motioned towards the door. "Let's go."

The gym wasn't too far from their room, and Hotch was thankful that Emily seemed to be more calm than she had been when he left the room to change. She was walking with a slight spring in her step, and he could tell every time he joked around with her and she laughed that her confidence was coming back a little bit.

It wasn't that Emily was insecure, she just held herself to extremely high standards, and tended to be a perfectionist. Hotch could understand that, sure, but he just wished she'd realize how special she was, how outstanding, how extraordinary. Truthfully, Hotch had been shocked from day one when she came in and didn't bat an eye at half of the most gruesome crimes he'd ever seen.

It was odd to see her completely out of her element.

Once they approached the double doors leading into the training center, Emily turned quickly and looked up at him.

"Hey, Hotch, thank you. You've been really patient so far and I know I'm not making it super easy but, thank you. It means a lot."

Hotch's heart clenched in his chest as he looked into her full dark eyes. She was being 100% serious; she actually thought she was being difficult. Against his better judgment, he reached out and gripped her gently by the shoulders, feeling an odd sensation tingle up his arms once his hands connected with her bare skin.

"Don't apologize, you're completely fine. You'd do the same thing for me in a heartbeat. It's just loyalty."

She sighed. "If you say so."

He snorted. "What, no eye roll?"

Emily bit her lip to contain a smile and in fact, and did in fact roll her eyes before pushing open the doors.

...

The facility itself wasn't much, there were no real pieces of equipment besides the basic weights and floor mats. A few makeshift punching bags had been hung in a corner, and there were about a half a dozen men carrying on and talking over beside them while exchanging blows to the bags. Hotch immediately spotted Royce and Rivers, who were standing near the far wall next to a couple mats laid out on the ground. A third man was with them, his skin as dark as the night sky. He was tall, too, and Hotch felt an irrational irritation that he was no longer the tallest person in the room, it was something that always superficially inflated his ego.

The trio seemed to sense that Hotch and Emily had entered the room, because they all turned at the same time and beckoned the pair over to where they were.

"Well, if it isn't the feebs I've been hearing so much about." The third man said, a full mischievous smile breaking out onto his face. "Let's see, Agent Hotchner is the big guy right here, and our little lady must be Agent Prentiss? Am I right?"

"Good to meet you." Hotch replied, extending his hand. The man grinned again and returned the handshake.

"Daveed Elliot, but please, call me Doc. I'm a medical doctor, too, hence the weird nickname, I'm not sure if Royce told you."

He turned towards Emily, and instead of giving her a somewhat icy greeting like Rivers had, he threw his arm around her shoulder and patted her arm.

"Now, I'm placing bets on you kicking Rivers' ass into the next century, are you gonna deliver?"

Emily dipped her head and smirked. She could read people pretty well, and while Rivers had made her feel slightly isolated, and Royce's greeting had been professional, she could tell Elliot-Doc, was warm and inviting. His physical contact with her wasn't lustful or wanting, but friendly. She almost felt safe, and he reminded her of a mixture of Derek and Rossi with the same twinkle in his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, allowing her rigid frame to relax a bit in his grasp.

"Sparring." Royce answered, jutting his chin over to Rivers who was wrapping his hands in a thin white cloth. "We'd like to see what you can do first, and Rivers volunteered."

Heat rose to her face and she narrowed her eyes. She had been suspicious that this entire 'workout' thing was to make sure she could handle herself, and if they wanted her to go first, then sure, she could go first. She wasn't going to hold back.

"Alright, fine." She said, moving forward from Doc's arms and taking some of the wrap from Rivers to envelope her palms in. The Quantico gym always had some of this along with athletic tape, and Emily preferred to use it when training solely because it made her feel more like she knew what she was doing (although she'd never admit that to anyone).

"The goal is to see who can pin their opponent and keep them down for ten seconds, almost like a wrestling match. In the field, if you apprehend someone and no one is able to help you immediately, you have to be able to hold them down on your own. Now, please, remember to be somewhat gentle. I don't want any broken bones or blood especially since you all just met." Royce was only half joking, Emily suspected.

"You ready?" Rivers said, as Hotch, Royce, and Doc moved back slightly to give the two some more room.

"Sure."

Emily had learned how to fight when she had first joined the FBI many years ago in the Academy. She had never been particularly good; she wasn't too big, but she had her speed and agility and eventually, overtime she was able to build up her strength so by the time she got to the BAU she knew exactly what she was doing. She had some faith in herself at the moment, she just really wanted to kick Rivers around a bit for insinuating she wasn't cut out for this.

Thanks to Derek, her strategy had improved leaps and bounds, too. He had always told her that the majority of alpha males fought the same way. They stayed on offense, always attacking first and once they need to be on defense they were completely thrown for a loop. Derek had told her that if she took things slow and paced it out, she'd always have the upper hand.

Rivers was no exception.

The second she steadied herself on her feet, she dodged his first swat near her. He was very nimble, she noted, but all his power was coming from how he was throwing his weight around. His reactions weren't incredibly quick either, Emily noticed.

So when he stepped again, she simply ducked and hopped over to another corner of the mat, completely avoiding the blow. She hadn't even made a move yet.

"You gonna keep running away or join me, Agent?" Rivers teased, but Emily smirked at the tiny hint of annoyance in his tone.

He lunged faster this time, catching her in the side before she could move. Now, it was her turn to hit back. As soon as his fist connected with her ribs, she shot an elbow into his gut and ducked out from underneath him as he coughed and instinctively clutched his stomach.

"Oooooo." Doc sarcastically heckled from the side, and Emily felt Hotch's eyes watching her with every step she took. As superficial as she knew it was, having her boss approve of her was a feeling that wasn't easily beaten. And she could tell he was impressed.

"We'll see." Rivers barked, shaking his head and moving forward before Emily could even react. Before she knew what was happening both of them were on the ground, and she could feel Rivers trying to push her shoulders down onto the mat. Emily counted out the seconds in her head, and on the fifth beat she thrust her knee up as hard as possible, hitting Rivers in the spot she had nailed him in earlier. He still wasn't prepared, and his grip loosened just enough for her to roll out from the pin and jump back to her feet as he pushed himself back up.

It was her turn to go on offense now.

He threw another punch near her torso, and Emily whipped her hand out in front and intercepted the blow before it landed on her. The sound of his fist against her palm echoed through the gym, and she pushed back as hard she could, setting Rivers completely off balance. Within a second, Emily swept her leg underneath his, causing Rivers to fall to his knees.

Sweat dripped off her forehead as she delivered another jab to his back to force him onto his front, but Rivers was ready. He caught Emily's arm and twisted her to the ground while regaining his own balance. She doubted he was going to waste any time continuing their elegant back-and-forth dance and would most likely just get on top of her and hold her down even if it meant putting all his weight onto her.

And Emily definitely wasn't going to go down like that. Right before Rivers dropped to hold her down, she shoved her legs into the air, catching his body as he attempted to throw himself down onto her. Using every bit of leg muscle she had, she forcibly kicked outward, sending Rivers in the opposite direction. Before he could fully recover, Emily lept off the ground, gripping his shoulders in her hands and taking them both down on the mat.

Rivers wasn't going to go easy either. He almost completely flipped her over a few times before Emily summoned the last bit of her strength and fully pinned his arms to the mat above his head, the impact sending a loud smack into the air. Using her knee as leverage, she pushed down onto his torso and held on for the last few seconds before Royce called it.

"Time!"

Emily gasped for air as she rolled off of Rivers, trying to ignore how completely physical that had gotten in such a short amount of time. He didn't seem too thrilled about having her body on top of him, though, so that was some consolation.

"Agent Prentiss, that was incredibly impressive." Royce said evenly, watching as Rivers hoisted himself from the ground and approached Emily.

"Thank you." She breathed heavily and turned towards Rivers, who was holding out his hand.

"Good match. You're tough."

She shook it, nodding her head. "So are you."

Despite the kind gesture, Rivers was obviously irritated, and the thick quiet that settled over them as they pulled their hands away was almost palpable in the stuffy air that surrounded them.

"Anyways, when we go out in the field I want her on my back." Doc said, breaking the silence.

Emily scoffed and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "I'm just competitive, that doesn't mean anything."

"Hmm, sure." He shook his head, facing Hotch. "I don't even wanna test YOU now that we've seen what she does, I bet y'all are cut from the same crop."

Hotch smiled his closed-lip smile. "Eh, she's younger and faster. You could probably take me."

"Please." Emily huffed as she walked over to the pair. "He's lying, I've seen him take out unsubs without breaking a sweat."

"I rest my case." Doc laughed, clapping Emily on the back. "But seriously, it's very comforting to know you can do something like that, it makes me feel a lot better about being here."

Her heart softened at the sincerity in his voice, and she grinned back. "I think I should be the one saying that considering you have actual medical knowledge."

She didn't miss the way Hotch was looking at her, and to be honest, she liked the extra attention. His admiration wasn't easily granted and it was all directed at her today, which was a first.

She might have to keep this up.

...

They spent the next few hours practicing various skills and combat moves in the facility area.

After Emily and Rivers, Doc and Hotch had duked it out a little, and Royce had eventually just called a draw because the men were so evenly matched. The team had then worked on basic fitness, things like push-ups and various measurements of strength and skill. Royce had been impressed with everyone, and he was pretty confident that the unit would mesh nicely out in the field with their varying specialties.

By the time Royce released them, Emily was ready to drop dead on the spot. She was absolutely exhausted from the flying, and now she could barely feel her arms and legs. She really just wanted to take a nice, long, hot shower before stuffing her face with whatever food was available and then curling up in her mini bed and knocking out for a few hours. She was fairly certain Hotch had similar sentiments.

"That was enough physical activity for the year." Doc commented as he walked alongside Emily and Hotch through the hallways to find food. Emily had noticed how personable he was, and how easily he had clicked with both of them, and she was glad to have someone else with them.

"I need a nap." Emily groaned, stretching her arms out while dragging her feet across the floor. She could already feel the bruises coming in from being thrown down onto the mat so hard.

"It's a good thing Royce said our schedule is clear for tonight so we can relax, even though I'm pretty sure the only reason we aren't working yet is because we have no leads." Doc agreed, plopping down into a stiff looking chair once the group reached one of the community rooms. Hotch followed suit, motioning for Emily to join him in the seat to his right.

"Hopefully we can sleep off this jet lag before we have to get started on the case." Hotch said, rubbing his temples.

"Yeah, the beds here are surprisingly comfortable." Doc assured, and Emily watched as his eyes tracked something behind her as his tone became a mutter. "We have a visitor coming in at 12 o'clock behind you."

"Sorry to interrupt fellas," an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind her. "Just wanted to introduce myself."

She craned her neck to see the man hovering near her side, and she resisted to urge to roll her eyes. He was young, VERY young, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was probably going to make a fool of himself. Granted, there was a real possibility this boy had hardly ever spoken to a woman besides his own mother, so this could be interesting.

"Hi." She replied, keeping a tight smile plastered on her face.

"A buddy of mine and I were just hanging out in the gym earlier when y'all were training, and I just wanted to say if you ever need someone to workout with, I'd be happy to help you."

Emily bit the inside of her cheek. In reality she probably was ten or eleven years this kid's senior, but she decided to just be nice instead of immediately shooting him down.

"Thank you, that's very sweet of you to offer, I think I'll be okay, though."

He nodded, obviously trying to figure out how to prolong the conversation. He finally figured out a talking point, because he dragged another chair over and sat down right next to Emily.

"So, you're a FBI profiler? That must be real cool."

"Mhm, so is my boss." Emily directed the kids attention over to Hotch, who was just watching the exchange with slight amusement in his eyes. "It's an interesting job."

"How long are you here for? I'm sure it's not an easy trip, I'm surprised your husband wasn't upset with you for coming for so long."

Emily almost snorted at the boy's attempt to be smooth. A+ for effort, really.

"I don't have a husband, so it was all my choice."

"Oh that's nice, I got ya."

"What about you? How long are you here for?" She asked, trying to be genuinely kind at least.

"I've been here about six months already, ma'am, I have about six more to go."

"Halfway there." Emily smiled. "That must be exciting?"

The boy was evidently getting more flustered as Emily progressed on with the conversation, and finally he responded with a brief nod before glancing back behind him as if someone had summoned him away.

"Anyways, it was very nice to meet you all, I'm Private Sanderson."

"Agent Prentiss." She replied, shaking the boy's outstretched hand and grinning when she watched him introduce himself to Doc and Hotch as well out of courtesy.

"I should be going now."

Emily smiled as the boy almost stumbled from his place in the group and sauntered off, waving a quick goodbye before reuniting with several other young looking men who seemed to be privates.

"That poor boy probably hasn't seen a woman that could actually talk to him in months, it sure does show." Doc chuckled.

"Poor kid." Hotch quipped in good nature, and Emily just giggled. She would take flustered boy over creepy older man any day, it was definitely easier to deal with.

"Let's hope the others don't follow suit." She said, shaking her head and turning her attention back to Hotch and Doc.

...


	5. Creature of the Night

Hotch was really counting his lucky stars for being able to shack up with Emily.

She had just gotten out of the shower, and her vanilla fresh scent was filling the room and embracing Hotch's senses, lulling him into an even sleepier state than he was already in.

He had just gotten off the phone with Jack, and afterwards he had called Derek to get a progress report on how the rest of the team was doing. Hearing their voices had made him yearn for home, but the second Emily had stepped back into the room, he had been comforted by her familiarity so much that the majority of his nerves seemed to calm.

She ran her long fingers through her wavy hair, separating the sopping wet curls from each other before throwing it behind her shoulders, sending little water droplets in Hotch's direction where he lay in his bed.

It wasn't even an infatuation, but Hotch loved to watch the way Emily moved. Ever since she joined the team, the way she carried herself had always interested him. Her mannerisms were so specific he knew exactly what they all meant because they were so original to her, like the way she ran her fingers over her thighs as if she was making sure she was still all put together in one piece.

Her lithe body was clothed in a low cut tank that hugged her in all the right places and baggy grey sweatpants that clung to her hips and stretched over her impossibly long legs. Hotch noticed how she was still wearing a bra, and he almost felt guilty for making her feel the need to cover up in her sleep to the point of discomfort, but there was no way he'd say anything, he didn't think that would be appropriate at all.

And now he had the image of taking off her bra for her, sliding it down her arms and letting it hit the floor before bringing her closer to him. He really didn't need that right now.

"Why are you giving me a weird look?"

He snapped his eyes up to hers, and she was a lot closer to his bedside than he remembered. He propped himself up on his elbow, suddenly feeling powerless with her hovering over him.

"What weird look?"

Her lips curved up faintly, and he was almost satisfied with how easily the simple flirting was passed between them, even when he didn't mean it to.

"You were watching me."

"No, I was looking in your direction." He teased, suppressing that stupid smile that kept creeping onto his face whenever she smirked back at him.

"Okay, right." She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "What did Derek say?"

"Oh, nothing really, they had a pretty easy day. Strauss is keeping them off rotation for a while, so we aren't missing anything monumental."

"That's good."

"Mhm."

He sat up almost all of the sudden, and for a moment he was worried that Emily would shy away from his quick movements, but she remained rooted in her spot, inches from him, arms still folded across her chest, her almond-shaped eyes watching his every move.

"Come here."

"What?"

"Come here." He swallowed the bubble of self-doubt that was building in his throat.

Emily hesitated, and for a moment, Hotch wondered if he had been reading everything completely wrong since the very beginning.

Until she moved forward slowly and stood directly in front of him, so close that he could see the goosebumps that had started to appear on her arms. He finally somehow found the will the move, and he ran his hands over her forearms and pulled her even closer. She followed, uncrossing her arms.

His hands finally found their way to her waist, and just the slender build of her body underneath his touch was enough to drive him crazy. It didn't help that she was practically on top of him and had her hands gripping his t shirt.

"Emily."

"What."

"Tell me to let go if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"You're not."

He ran his thumbs over the curve of her hip bones, relishing in the fact that the simplest of his touches made her breath catch in her throat.

That was, until, a knock sounded on the door, and Emily scurried away like she had been burned, and Hotch stood up from the bed, brushing his hand along her back as he walked towards the door, hoping the person on the other side didn't let their eyes wander down to his pants; he was slightly embarrassed that just touching her in such a normal place had got him that good.

"I'm glad you're both still awake, Agents." Royce said as soon as Hotch opened the door, and Hotch's heart dropped when he saw the man donning a Kevlar vest and military helmet. "We need to go."

Emily materialized by Hotch's side and peered out at the commander. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, I know you both were looking forward to getting some rest, but there's another body. Same note, no apparent cause of death it seems. We have to go. Suit up, wear long pants and preferably a long sleeved shirt, we have Kevlar and extra protection once you meet us by the SUVs. Even if it's just a body we are in a war zone."

"Okay, we'll be ready as soon as possible." Hotch nodded and closed the door as Royce moved down the hall, already knocking on Rivers' door a few rooms to the left of them.

Emily and Hotch made eye contact for a prolonged, excruciating second before breaking the tension and rummaging through their luggage, pretending that they didn't feel the obvious pull that was still so present in the air surrounding them.

...

The body was located in an abandoned shop right on the outskirts of a small town near Baghdad, and with the dark night hovering over the building and soft creaks of the establishment settling, Emily could have sworn she had been transported into her favorite episode of The X-Files. The flashlight beams bounced off dusty walls and the few pane-less windows allowed for a sliver of moonlight to enter, creating an eerie glow. For security reasons, Royce had taken a few of the spare privates from the base who weren't on any particular assignment at the moment, but the group was still extremely minuscule and in reality, if a planned attack was executed here, they would all be dead in a matter of minutes.

All of that aside, Emily was also feeling particularly antsy about the body. He was male, tall, thin, and he seemed like he was a native here; judging by his clothing and physical appearance. His eyes were staring off into space, empty, and the note that had been attached to his shirt had been torn and battered. There was blood on his body, but no major wounds could be found. And honestly, the longer they stood here gawking at the body the higher the chance of an attack would be.

Royce, Rivers and the privates had gone canvasing the surrounding area, trying to find anything to allude to how the victim was transported here or if he died here. They had left Doc, Hotch, and Emily in the main room with the body, and while Emily was incredibly confident in her associates, she couldn't help but feel the hairs on her neck stand up straight whenever there was the slightest movement in the shop.

"This is so fucking frustrating." Doc growled from his crouched position next to the body, glancing up at Hotch and Emily who were on guard around him; their guns cocked and flashlights pointed out in front of them.

"What?" Hotch replied, taking no notice to Doc's profanity.

"There's no apparent cause of death. I would have to do a complete autopsy to even begin to try to understand what happened to this man. We have such a big problem here, and we are no where near a starting point."

"Maybe something internal?" Emily commented, catching Hotch's eye over Doc's back. Their interaction in the room before coming here was still fresh, and Emily felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment whenever Hotch was in her general vicinity.

"I guess, but what are the chances that both victims died of something in their own bodies unless it was an outside force?" Doc sighed, shaking his head.

"What about poison?"

"Again, I'd have to do an autopsy which takes time. I just wish we had our answers upfront and we could work off of it."

"I know, but it might be in our best interests to take the victims back for examination. The killer's time between victims is still a week or so, which would allow for some time to figure things out medically before we say anything definite." Hotch said, and the tone of his voice was so soothing and even that Emily's anxiety about the location ebbed for a moment. Objectively, she knew people often considered her as level-headed and calm, but it was only her mask. Inside, she was constantly a mess, where Hotch practically oozed confidence.

She envied it a lot.

"You're right. I'll find Royce and let him know we need to transport the body with us." Doc stood up to leave, and suddenly there was a shuffling noise from the far corner of the room, as if something had been startled by the man's change of stature.

Emily's breath caught in her throat and cold panic ran down her legs. She mentally kicked her own ass for not trusting her gut. Maybe it was just a stray dog, looking for food, or another small animal...

She wasn't so convinced.

"We're not alone." Hotch mouthed, holding a finger to his lips as Doc pulled his weapon from his holster and turned the safety off. The click echoed through the establishment like an explosion, and Emily bit her lip, waiting for whatever was hiding to come bolting out.

While the three agents were frozen in their spots, the noises escalated to snuffling, almost panting. The only sound it reminded Emily of was the labored breathing of Gollum; a creature who had terrified her when she was little, and she was beginning to think that whatever was hiding in the shadows was going to have a similar effect on her.

The panting was becoming more intense, and it almost started to sound like groaning. Whatever the thing was, it was definitely in some sort of pain, that much was obvious.

Hotch nodded his head towards the corner, counting down from three with his fingers. Doc and Emily silently slid into formation, creeping up on the source of the noise.

Once Hotch reached one, his voice boomed out: "Law enforcement! Show yourself!"

And then all hell broke loose.

The thing that had been cowering in the shadows responded with an enraged shriek; mixed with terror and ferocity. The agents fanned out, ready to trap whatever was making the disturbance, until all of a sudden the creature shot out from its corner and...stood up on both legs.

Emily's stomach clenched when she got a look at their subject. The worst part about it, she decided, was that this was no animal. This was a human; a man.

And this man had started to run full speed out the exit of the building, tripping and stumbling on his way out.

Emily was closest to the exit, and she didn't even wait for the command from Hotch before rocketing after the man, ignoring the uncertainty that was tugging at the back of her brain. Her teammates followed right on her heels, their huffing and puffing making Emily feel like she was being chased, which wasn't a good addition to her already full fledged paranoia.

She had to hand it to the man fleeing, no matter how many times he stumbled and slammed his body into obstacles, he never slowed, even after stepping in a pile of broken glass with his bare feet. He had cried out, Emily noted, but kept going without delay, as if the pain didn't really matter.

She was beginning to get a bit winded, and running with all the extra gear (plus the clunky helmet) was a bit of a challenge, but she forced herself to pump her legs faster and follow the man's jagged, unexpected path before they lost him in the night. Hotch and Doc were still behind her, trying to catch up to where she was.

Everything would be fine, she told herself while taking deep breaths through her nose to avoid cramps. They would catch up with her, the man in front would tire from his spastic pattern of travel, and they'd all collar him. Nothing to worry about, she'd done this a million times before with similar unsubs.

That was until the subject crossed a street, causing loud honks of irritation and distress from the night travelers on the road. Emily kicked her speed up, leaping out in front of a passing vehicle and nearly missing being pegged. She hadn't lost any speed on the man, but what she hadn't taken the time to think about was how Doc and Hotch had been caught behind the car that Emily had practically hurdled, and they were losing sight of her quickly as the man continued to lead her forward.

Emily had considered that this might be a trap, but she knew that even if Hotch and Doc were somewhat near her, they'd be able to take out any danger she wasn't prepared for. Plus, she was far too pumped off her adrenaline to let this man escape. There was an extremely high chance he knew something about the body in the shop, and getting information might just finally break the ice on this case.

So she kept going, until she realized that she was alone in an alleyway, and the subject had somehow just vanished. He had rounded a corner, and once Emily had reached the same place only a few seconds later, there was no sign of him, at all.

She breathed heavily, swinging her ponytail off the back of her neck to try and cool her body off quicker. She needed to think, besides continuing onto the next road or literally just materializing into thin air, the man couldn't have gotten far. He was somewhere around here, and sooner or later she'd hear his moaning and be able to take him down.

Hotch and Doc were approaching, still a good distance away but close enough to be in shouting range, and Emily turned to them, lowering her weapon for one brief moment to try and communicate with the others.

"I lost him, he just disappeared. There's no way he could have gotten away so quickl-"

Emily didn't have time to finish her statement before she was tackled to the ground.

...

Her Glock clattered out of her outstretched hand and flew to the opposite side of the alley, skidding to a stop in front of a rusted chain-linked fence.

Everything was blurry. Her head had slammed down onto the concrete when she was taken down; her helmet strap ripped from underneath her chin, and she tasted blood. Probably from her teeth going into her lip when she hit the ground.

The only thing she knew for sure was that Hotch and Doc had started sprinting, and there was a horrible snarling sound coming from on top of her.

She forced her eyes open all the way despite the disorientation, and stared straight into the face of their subject.

Something was horribly wrong.

His eyes captured Emily first, they were incredibly dilated and bloodshot, the irises completely blacked out, creating a stark contrast with his creamy white skin. They drifted out of focus as he pushed down onto Emily's neck with his gnarly fingers and squeezed as hard as possible.

Which was her second clue. His strength; for someone so emaciated (which he was) and so exhausted from being pursued for several blocks was unearthly. She felt like a boulder had been dropped on her throat, and it was slowly crushing it from the inside out. The agony seemed to last for eons.

She realized it had been about 10 seconds since she had been taken down.

And with the remaining brain power she had, she also realized she needed to fight back. Now.

Channeling all of her remaining energy into her shaking legs and unsteady arms, she pushed and kicked with all her might before finally catching him in the crotch and clawing at his eyes before he screeched and released his choke hold on Emily's neck, allowing her to roll out from underneath his body and gasp for air before turning around to send a uppercut to the man's jaw, who had started to barrel towards her again.

"We need to take him out!" Doc yelled out, finally beginning to approach the vicinity of the brawl.

"If you shoot you're going to hit Emily!" Hotch cried back, trying his hardest to remain calm. The assailant was so much more powerful and about ten times larger than Emily was, and the only advantage she had on him was that she was a hair faster. He wanted to end this fucker's life so badly, but with the amount of movement that Emily and the subject were creating and the distance of the shot, Hotch realized there was a huge chance they'd hit Emily. She had to hold on for a little bit longer, she had to.

She was aware of that as well, and despite the aching pain in her ribs from being body-slammed, she was throwing every bit of her body weight at the man, trying to do anything to knock him off balance and gain the upper hand. She had landed at least five strong punches and kicks, but if it was affecting the man at all, he wasn't showing it.

However, Emily wasn't allowing herself to be pushed back down, despite all the scratches and hits she was taking too. She was going to stay upright, she swore to it.

That was until the man caught one of Emily's swings mid-air in his crushing grip.

And wrapped his mouth around where her wrist and hand met.

And he bit down.

Emily's family had owned a lot of dogs when she was young, mostly regal hunting breeds with long flowing coats and shiny noses that would impress house guests and be obedient when needed. She had always liked to play with the animals, and once when she was a toddler, she had thought it would be a good idea to try and pull on one of the dog's tail and allow the pet to drag her around. Within a few seconds, she had been bitten across her shoulder and had to be taken to the emergency room for stitches. She had screamed so loud that her mother later admitted she thought someone was being murdered.

This pain felt a lot like that.

She didn't realize she was screaming until it choked off with a sob when the man began to tear into her skin again, shaking his head back and forth like a predator trying to tear meat off its prey. Her cries of pain had distracted the man enough for a millisecond, and Emily pulled her hand away as forcefully as she could, yelping when she felt skin rip away with her movement. She had no choreography to her fighting style now, she was completely thrown off and terrified, and frankly, in a shit ton of pain.

Doc and Hotch were almost close enough for a clean shot, but she knew they'd be too late, the man would get the jump on her again. The blood- HER blood, on his lips was enough for her to make a decision.

She had less than a second before her attacker would notice she had pulled away before he sprang on her again. Her gun was more than ten huge steps away. She had to hit him one more time to gain an edge.

So, she rushed him, throwing her most powerful punch square into the middle of his face. The impact was enough to push the man back a few feet, causing him to howl in agony as his nose cracked and blood spilled over Emily's already injured hand.

Gun, she had to get her gun.

She didn't wait to make sure the man fell, the second she took her hand away from his face, she sprinted. Hotch and Doc appeared in the outer edges of her blurred vision, but she still would have the best shot if she was able to get her weapon.

Heavy breaths and pounding footsteps were approaching fast behind her, and she could practically smell the blood on his face as he gained on her with incredible speed.

Taking a quick breath, she rocketed forward, tucking her shoulder as she rolled onto the ground, her fingers skimming the barrel of her gun and pulling it to her hand. The man jumped at her, but wasn't coherent enough to register she had hit the ground instead of continuing to move forward. As he turned on his heels to continue his attack, Emily fired three shots from her position below.

Each hit with perfect precision on the man's chest. He wailed one last time before dropping lifelessly next to her, his fingers twitching as his last breaths left his body.

Everything was over in about 30 seconds.

"Emily!"

She forced herself to her feet, dropping her gun and back-pedaling away from where the corpse lay bleeding onto the concrete. Whether it was the pure exhaustion from the sprint and the altercation, or the fact that she had been so close to being torn apart by a human mouth, the little food she had eaten earlier climbed its way up her throat and exited her body onto the pavement with one quick retch.

Immediately, there were hands on her, rubbing her back through her vest. She glanced to her side, watching Hotch kneel beside the man and check his pulse, and she allowed herself to fall back into Doc's hold for a moment while she tried to focus on not vomiting again.

"Lemme see your hand, Emily."

The doctor's voice from behind her brought her attention back to the wound she was sporting on her left wrist (right below her now bloodied sleeve) and she gasped in shock when she got a good look at the damage her attacker had done.

It legitimately looked like a horrific animal bite that had taken off a bit of skin. His teeth imprints were all over her arm, displaying exactly where he had sunk his teeth in. It made Emily feel more lightheaded than she already was.

She hissed in pain when Doc ran his fingers over the wound and she attempted to yank her hand away and untangle herself from his grip, only to be stopped by Hotch's muscular arm as he pulled her back in between himself and Doc.

"Agent Prentiss, we need to look at you."

"No, I'm fine, he's dead, I'm fine." She spat, attempting to add some fire to her voice which only ended up sounding more panicked and shaken, especially since her voice was hoarse from the brief strangulation.

"Your hand looks like you were mauled." Doc half joked, causing Emily to shake off some of the blood that was still flowing from her wound.

"It's just a bite."

Hotch scoffed, but not in good nature like he usually did in relation to her. He was frustrated, and justifiably recovering from the fear that had been coursing through him while he could only watch the attack.

"Prentiss, you're going to need a couple stitches." Doc said, reaching out to cradle her mangled hand, only for Emily to yank it away and pull it closer to her body.

She stared down at her injury and fought back the few rogue tears that were beginning to slip from her eyes. "There was something wrong with him."

"We know that."

"No!" She shouted, louder than she meant to. "I felt like I was being attacked by an animal. He had pure instinctual aggression and nothing was thought out. He had no idea what he was doing, when...when I looked into his eyes they were completely empty."

Hotch and Doc both paused, allowing for a soft sniffle to be heard from Emily as she tried to reign in her emotions.

"Did you notice anything about his mouth?" Doc finally said.

"What, you mean other than the fact that he took some of my goddamn skin off with it?"

"Was anything coming out of his mouth?"

"What?" She asked, before what Doc was saying finally dawned on her. "Oh God, you think he was rabid?"

"No, no, no, I want to make sure though. While he was expressing a lot of symptoms, he wasn't foaming from what I could see, and even though his coordination was poor, it was much too skilled for a rabies victim still. I just want to be sure."

Emily took a shaky breath and ignored the pulsing pain in her hand. "No, he wasn't foaming from the mouth."

"Okay, good. Now, I'm going to go talk to Royce and let him know what happened, and I'm going to take you and Hotchner back to the base, and once we get there, we're going to run a few tests and give you a couple shots, just in case."

"Tell him we need both bodies to examine." Hotch added, moving closer to Emily when she let out a tiny squeak from her suppressed sobs. "The attacker isn't the unsub, but he's connected. We need them both."

"You're right. Okay, stay here, I'll bring the SUV over. Don't move." Doc broke into a swift jog in the direction of the shop, leaving Hotch and Emily alone with the cadaver.

Emily had her back to Hotch, trying to keep the tears that were rolling down her cheeks hidden. She had torn off the rest of her sleeve that had been ruined from the attack, and it came off surprisingly easy; the fabric was very weak, perfect for a makeshift bandage. She began to wrap it around her injured hand, but ended up involuntarily crying out when it brushed against her exposed raw skin.

Hotch was on her in an instant. He wrapped his arms gently around her kevlar'd torso, pulling her against his side as he gingerly took her injured hand and rearranged the cloth so it rested on top of the wounds instead of sitting inside them. Emily didn't notice she had allowed herself to start crying until one of her own tears dripped onto her exposed collarbone.

"I'm proud of you." Hotch whispered as he soothingly ran his fingertips over her arm. "You did exactly what you were supposed to."

"I wasn't paying attention." She choked. "I would have seen him."

"No." Hotch replied, "you were brave, you didn't lose your head."

She didn't answer, but instead bit down on her lip to refrain from letting more tears slip out.

"Let me see your neck."

Heat rushed to her face, and she tucked her head away from his fingers which had reached up from her arm and gently clasped her jaw. "No, its fine. It was like two seconds."

"I just want to see."

Emily steeled herself and kept her head turned the opposite way, ignoring Hotch's attempts to get her to lift her chin. She didn't want there to be bruises, she couldn't have bruises there. She would be marked; a weakling. Everyone would see the finger marks left on her skin and they'd know just how easily she could be conquered. She couldn't have that.

"Alright, Prentiss, you need to show me. I'm not going to do anything, I'm not going to touch them, I just need to make sure no blood vessels were broken. You can do that for me, right?"

He wasn't asking her now, and his tone had become much more stern in the span of a few seconds to the point where he was reminding her of the man who had reprimanded her more than once in the field. She sucked in an impatient breath and relaxed the tension she was holding in her body, lifting her chin slightly.

The sensation of touch against her neck made her shudder as she remembered the panic that had risen inside her once the assailant had her underneath him. Hotch was trying to be as careful as possible, cupping her face and tilting her head to make sure he hadn't missed any bruises.

"Okay, you're fine. Only a bit of bruising, and none of it is awful. They'll fade by tomorrow."

He hadn't let go of her face yet, and Emily forced herself to meet his eyes.

This was definitely the most unhinged she'd ever seen Hotch.

"Are you in pain anywhere else?"

"No, just going to be sore."

"Tell me the truth."

"I swear."

He finally nodded, running his tongue over his bottom lip, sadly smiling. "You gave me a heart attack, you know that. I think my hair is going to be completely grey by the time we get home."

Emily twisted her mouth into a small grin, feeling tears prick in the corner of her eyes. "I hope so. You wouldn't be able to rock it."


	6. Cannibalism is the New Rabies

"Maybe he just wanted a little taste of ya."

Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead offered the man in front of her a half-assed smile, so fake that Hotch caught her eye and smirked a bit.

This was really not how she had planned spending her first night here. Doc had driven Emily and Hotch back to the base, and the adrenaline from her skirmish had almost completely worn off, so Emily had started to feel all of the pain from her injury at once. Not to mention once she got a good look at in the light it made her insides flip up and down like she was on the rickety old roller coaster at the state fair.

It was (to say the least) pretty gnarly, and the worst part about it was that she could actually make out the outline of where the man's teeth had sunken into her.

Doc had immediately set up shop in one of the examining rooms to start his autopsies, and he sent Emily and Hotch to one of the few other trauma doctors on the base that would be able to stitch her up. Emily had been hesitant to this idea at first, considering she wasn't really a fan of the majority of the men here from her experiences today, but Doc assured her, Dr. Khan was the best of the best.

And Emily decided she could trust Doc, because Dr. Khan was, in fact, the best.

As soon as Hotch had practically shoved her into the examination room, he managed to introduce himself as he sat her down on one of the beds and began to pull out his sutures to prepare for the stitches. He was warm, older, with a round figure and a snowy beard that made Emily think of Santa, and once he had made sure Emily was comfortable after he had numbed her up a little bit, he held a full conversation with Hotch for a few minutes while preparing his equipment.

Hotch was polite, but in all the years Emily knew him she was aware that small talk was not his strong suit. However, with Khan, Hotch seemed to relax. He liked this guy, so Emily forced the tension out of her shoulders and tried to follow by example, despite how badly she wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

"A little?" She managed to respond as anxiety spiked in her stomach as Khan placed the nylon thread and scissors next to her.

"Okay, maybe more than a little, but the good news is that you are rabies free. No rabid men have bitten into you tonight."

She sighed, feeling a tad bit embarrassed that she had been so worried about that ridiculous theory. "Good."

"Now," Khan paused and gave Emily a quizzical look. "I'm sorry, doll, I forgot your name already. I'm an old man and my short term memory isn't what it used to be."

"Prentiss." Emily said, sucking in a breath when Khan swiped a disinfecting wipe over the tender skin near the bite.

"That first or last? Or is your first name just Agent?"

Emily's mouth twisted into a tiny grin. "Emily."

"Ah, Emily, have you ever gotten stitches before?"

Emily had to genuinely think about it for a moment. She had been a pretty reckless child, and while she had broken an arm once and had her fair share of concussions, she never had to be stitched up.

"No, I don't think so."

"Okay, what I'm going to do first is give you a big shot of numbing medication that's going to hurt a little bit, but it'll keep you from feeling the actual stitches at all, which is good. Is that okay? I assume you've had far worse."

"She has." Hotch said from the corner of the room when Emily just nodded. "I wouldn't worry about her."

"Needles don't really bother me." She smiled, biting down on the inside of her cheek as the searing sensation in her hand worsened by the minute. She was about to just take the needle and stick herself and get it over with.

"Good." Khan replied, taking the biggest needle Emily had ever seen in his hand. "After I give you this, I'm going to take a quick look at the bite and then close it up, and then you'll be good to go."

"Oka-" Emily didn't even get form the final vowel of the word before Khan thrust the needle into her arm out of nowhere. She gasped and did her best to bite back a whimper from the sudden burst of pain from a new external source.

"Best to do it when you're not expecting it." Khan chuckled, carefully extracting it from Emily's skin after the medication had been emptied into her bloodstream. "Alright, let's see what happened here."

His gloved hands reached out to gentle pull Emily's arm over towards him, but even the slightest brush of physical contact made the raw skin around the wound sting, and Emily winced and instinctively yanked her hand back towards her chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, Emily. I need to see it, though."

Hotch was out of his seat now, hovering behind her. She felt his fingertips dancing lightly behind her back, as if he was trying to refrain from touching her. "Prentiss, let him look, this needs to be quick so you can rest."

His comforting tone wasn't much consolation at the moment, but her eyelids were getting heavy and she just wanted to be in bed. She sighed indignantly, and extended her hand out.

Khan cautiously rested her wrist in one of his palms, while he leaned in to get a good look. He was silent for a bit, his brow crinkling as he made low grunts of confusion. Emily didn't really think that was soothing at a time like this.

Finally, the doctor lifted his head up. "You said a man bit you? As in, a human man?"

"Yes." Emily said, her tone coming across more flat than she intended but she really wasn't in the mood to be questioned about this. She had looked her attacker in the face, and it had most definitely been a man.

"She was." Hotch added, and Emily felt a small chill as his breath tickled the back of her neck.

"Wow."

"Wow what?"

Khan shook his head. "Honestly, if I didn't know anything about human tooth structure, I'd say you were bitten by a vicious dog. This looks...animalistic."

"What do you mean?" Emily asked, peering down at the torn skin on her hand.

"Well, as humans, our cuspid teeth, or canine teeth, and our incisors usually aren't very sharp because we use our molars to chew food. Now, incisors and cuspids are designed for biting and tearing, and our teeth are very dull, which is why we don't go running around sinking our teeth into every animal we see. So, if a person were to try and tear a piece of meat, or in your case, skin, off of something, we would try to use our molars which are stronger. However, your wound shows a tearing pattern that I've seen with animal attacks. Have you ever seen a dog play with a toy?"

Emily and Hotch nodded in tandem.

"The dog will pick at its toy, or prey, and once it has a good grip it will shake its head back and forth to try to rip pieces of meat off. It looks like this man latched onto you and shook as hard as he could, and he did manage to take some skin off. Do you remember if he did that or were you too shocked to even notice?"

Emily blinked rapidly. Her memory was fuzzy, she had been too panicked to remember details that would have been second nature to her on a good day. "I guess he did? He was like...chewing."

"That's what I thought." Khan sighed, puzzled.

"What does that mean?" Hotch asked, almost reading Emily's mind.

"I mean, nothing extremely important I suppose." He trailed off and glanced down at his fingers. "You know people say that the human finger is as strong as a carrot? That the same amount of biting force could be applied and our fingers could be taken off?"

"I've heard that." Hotch said, his voice hinting at impatience. "Figured it was fake."

"It's more true than you think. Our brains stop us from hurting ourselves, and other people, therefore if we bite someone else, even hard enough to injure, no one tries to bite off a finger in the right frame of mind. However, Agent Prentiss' wound shows extreme trauma, and from the deep grooves of the teeth marks you can tell just how hard he bit down. If you hadn't pulled your hand away when you did, Agent, I guarantee he would have kept applying more force to the bite and end up breaking your hand."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I believe so, which is unsettling because it definitely means he wasn't stopping himself from doing it, that it was almost like he had to. With that and the way he used his incisors and cuspids I'd say it was animalistic."

Emily and Hotch exchanged a glance. While the news was slightly unsettling, both agents knew that it was the very beginnings of a working profile. Maybe Doc's autopsies would have something to add, too.

Maybe then Emily would feel useful here. She could do her JOB, instead of taking up space in an examination room.

"That's actually helpful." She said, giving Khan a gentle grin. "I wouldn't have been able to piece that together."

He smiled back. "What can I say, Emily. Now, your hand is all numbed up so let's close this ugly bite once and for all, shall we?"

Emily nodded, relaxing a bit when she saw Hotch drag his chair over to where she was seated on the table. For once, she didn't mind him being so protective, she was still incredibly shaken from tonight and her bravado was beginning to fade. She was just happy that when Khan stuck the needle through her skin to make the first suture, she couldn't feel a damn thing.

...

Hotch rolled onto his back, taking a deep breath and desperately trying to keep his eyes closed.

It was almost 4 a.m. and he hadn't slept a wink yet. His mind was still going a million miles an hour and he hadn't been able to relax at all tonight from what had happened earlier.

He was almost envious of Emily, who's even breathing was the only sound he could hear in the dark room. She had passed out as soon as she had gotten into her bed about an hour ago, and Hotch couldn't blame her. She was probably exhausted from her lack of sleep and the amount of energy she used fighting off the attacker from the alley, not to mention that the painkillers helped a little with her sleepiness.

He hadn't even realized how important Emily had become to him until today. She was very much still his rock like she had been during his split with Haley. Where Derek, Rossi, and even JJ sometimes would try to get him to talk out his feelings regarding his marriage, Emily had just picked up the slack by 100%. She had never pressured him to talk, she had asked how he was doing occasionally, but mostly she just made sure her job was taken care of. She didn't make many mistakes to begin with, but her work ethic increased even more when he was at his worst. Even that alone was enough for him, but she had practically latched herself to him in the field when she could tell he was having a particularly rough day, taking the lead with whatever task was given, allowing him to hang back and just follow for once.

Sure, he guessed he had been aware how much he relied on her before tonight, but the absolute terror he had experienced when she had been pushed to the ground and pinned was unparalleled by anything else he'd ever felt for her, or for any of his agents for that matter. He had never wanted to take a kill shot so badly. He hadn't allowed himself to react when he had seen her hand or the bruises on her neck that were shaped like fingers despite how his gut had filled with rage and he had just wanted to tear into someone. Objectively, Hotch knew she was fine, or she would be, but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to be fucking furious with how she had been beaten.

There was a soft hitch in Emily's breathing from across the room, signaling that she was readjusting her position. Hotch glanced over, the hall light leaking through the space under the door and illuminating the room enough for him to make out Emily's figure in her bed.

She was sprawled out, one of her legs dangling off the edge of the bed and the other one pressed against the wall, her bandaged arm resting on her stomach while the opposite was flung behind her head.

Hotch chuckled. There was no way in hell she was comfortable like that. It looked like she was going to pull every muscle in her body. He debated rearranging her like he had on their flight, but she really needed her rest and he shouldn't disturb her.

Emily was still so foreign to him. He never truly figured her out, she'd surprised him the second she'd snapped back at him when he had accused her of having a political agenda, and she constantly pushed him in the field; whether it was questioning his profiles or just taking a whole different approach to solving the case entirely. However, he knew she didn't do those things to be antagonistic, she was a challenging person, but not necessarily in a negative way. Emily pushed herself so hard that everyone else seemed to follow suit; even though most of the team already had the deadly workaholic trait.

She seemed so rock-hard, so unshakable, so stern sometimes that he wondered why Strauss just hadn't uprooted him completely and dropped Emily in the Unit Chief chair from day one. But then there were times like this, where he could hear her grinding her teeth from all the way across the room, or when she got a little bit tipsy and flirted unabashedly like Morgan tends to, or when she hummed along to the radio in the SUV's on the way to a crime scene, that made her so much more real.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she stirred again, mumbling something in her sleepy state before sitting up with a jolt that startled Hotch a little bit.

"Prentiss? What's wrong?"

She rubbed her eyes and yawned, looking incredibly disoriented and unamused and Hotch pondered if he should have even tried to engage her in conversation right now.

She grumbled and scratched her head. "What?"

"You jumped."

"Oh," she said, "I don't know. Maybe I was dreaming."

She paused, glancing over to where Hotch was laying under his blankets and watching her with careful eyes.

"Have you not slept yet?"

"No, I'm having a hard time relaxing."

She smiled cheekily, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. "Take your own advice and curl your toes."

Hotch tried not to stare so obviously when she stretched, but her tank top left very little to the imagination. He wanted to rewind to when he had his hands on her waist and she was gripping his shirt, but as soon as she tossed her thick hair over her shoulder and her bruises along her neck were exposed, he felt guilty for even looking at her like that.

His consciousness kept replaying his actions in their room earlier, too, and each time he thought about how he had taken the first step and touched her in a way that wasn't exactly professional, a sickening pang hit his stomach. He couldn't do that to her, even if she wanted it. He was her boss, it was literally his job to keep her in line and oversee her work, and he would be abusing his power if he continued to act on his feelings. This was the sort of thing that could ruin careers - well hers, his wasn't really in question. Women always got the short end of the stick with these situations. And he couldn't contribute to that.

"Where are you going?" He finally asked when she had managed to wake up enough to push herself off of the lifted bed and scuttle over to the door.

She turned around and gave him that look that he despised. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Get your keys."

She took a deep breath and even with the limited light, Hotch swore he saw her roll her eyes. "Hotch, I'll be fine."

"Prentiss."

She groaned and back-pedaled over to where the keys rested on her table. "Are you gonna escort me to the bathroom, too?"

"Actually..."

"Hotch." She scoffed. "I was kidding."

"Yeah, well I wasn't."

"I can't even pee in peace?"

He smiled softly. "Just take your keys and I'll quit being annoying."

Hotch allowed himself to relax as he watched Emily reluctantly swipe her keys from the table before exiting. He forced himself to keep his eyes open until she re-entered the room a few minutes later, and then he finally drifted off into sleep.

...


	7. Trash to Treasure

Emily had never been particularly skilled at waking up early. When she was a little girl, her mother actually had to forcibly pull her from the bed to get her morning going, and Emily was slightly embarrassed to remember that this had continued until she was elementary school age.

Working at the BAU had helped some, she could wake up to her alarms now but that didn't mean she was ever happy about it. She remembered all those bitter 4am wake-up calls for case briefings, and how Penelope and JJ would waltz in, completely put together and already on their third cup of coffee whilst Emily was dead on her feet and ready to kill anyone who looked at her sideways.

She was having one of those days.

Not only a few hours after she and Hotch had finally dozed off, Royce had sent Rivers around to wake everyone up. He had simply said there was evidence that needed to be discussed, and that they should dress like they MIGHT have to go out in the field. Emily knew that that 'might' was about 100% certain.

And now she was sitting up against the foot of Royce's bed, trying to keep her eyes from fluttering closed as Doc went over the details of his autopsies to the rest of the group.

Hotch was next to her, and she was sure he could tell she was fading fast because he kept jabbing her in the side whenever she started to slump over, and while she appreciated the effort to keep her on her toes she was irritated already and now she had to resist the urge to swat her boss away.

"The cause of death is still completely unknown for our local vic. I haven't been able to place an ID either, so for now he's a John Doe, which is very frustrating. I spent hours in there last night and I found the most worthless information, we're making the smallest of baby steps." Doc stated, sighing angrily.

"Well, did you find anything that could help Hotchner and Prentiss form a profile?" Royce replied, and Emily straightened up when she was mentioned in conversation, remembering what Dr. Khan had explained last night.

"We actually have something, sir." She piped up, causing the attention in the room to shift from Doc over to her.

"Go ahead, Prentiss."

"When I was getting my hand stitched last night, the doctor who helped me- Dr. Khan, made some interesting observations. Humans have an incredibly strong biting force, but our psyche keeps us from morbidly injuring ourselves and others by biting, but my wound was so deep, and the man seemed to use teeth that are attributed to canines and similar predators."

Rivers almost snorted. "Are you really spitballin' the rabies idea here again, Prentiss? I thought we put that to rest."

"No." She retorted, attempting to chuckle good-naturedly, but in her weary state it came out as a bit of a snarl. "That was his medical observation."

"So, vampire? Werewolf?"

She rolled her eyes, and normally if she was more well-rested she would resist the urge to take a jab at him. But she wasn't.

"Would you rather Agent Hotchner tell you this? Would it be more believable coming from him?"

The room fell into a bit of an awkward silence, and Emily patiently waited for the reprimand that would come from either Royce or Hotch; or both, but surprisingly no one said a thing.

The dumb smirk on Rivers' face faltered for a moment, and Emily profiled him in an instant. He was harmless (generally speaking), but he was one of those schoolyard bullies that would pick on you all day long but the minute someone took a shot at him, he'd recoil.

"I was just playing with you, Prentiss, didn't mean to piss you off."

"It's fine, long night." she paused for a beat, debating if she should apologize or not, but she figured it would make things more tense. "Anyways, the injury showed a bite pattern that's not stereotypical of humans, it was animalistic, which is odd because at first I thought the man who attacked me must be our unsub, but there's no way, at least I don't think so."

"Why not?" Royce asked.

Emily sighed. "He was far too frenzied to carry out such a sophisticated crime with the note and no apparent cause of death, if the man did kill those people I think he would have mauled them if he was able to do this much damage to my hand in a few seconds."

"But what if this was new for him, and he had some sort of mental break?"

"Psychosis is not inherently violent like this, and the fact that the first two bodies were laid out with messages attached to them means that whoever this unsub is, they're incredibly skilled and careful, with a well-thought out plan. The man in the alley who attacked Emily was none of those things, in fact he only attacked after we chased him, and it was by pure chance that Emily was there." Hotch replied.

"Well then why was he at the crime scene at all? How did he know there was a body there, or was it purely circumstantial? Because I'm almost 100% positive he's not a native here, he's white." Doc crinkled his brow while verbally trying to sort through the mess of facts that didn't seem to connect.

"At the moment, we don't have any good idea about why he was there. I'm fairly certain he has something to do with the deaths of these men, but I have no clue how to connect it for you."

Emily was taken slightly off guard, Hotch never outwardly admitted when he was at a loss, it was always communicated with frustrated glares and deep exhales, but this was probably the first time she had ever heard him say he didn't know what to do. He was right, though, she was just as lost as he was and if they tried to connect the dots between her attacker and the corpses they'd simply be grasping for straws, which was not going to get them home any sooner.

It wouldn't get Hotch back to Jack any sooner either.

"So where does that leave us?" Doc said.

"Rivers and Elliot, I want you two to stay here and go over everything we have so far, including the bodies. We need to have some sort of starting point that isn't just a profile. I'm going to take Hotchner and Prentiss to where we found the first body, maybe something about the dump site can get us going."

"Damn, thought I was gonna be stuck with the mind readers again." Doc joked, winking at Emily.

She actually wished she was with Doc too, Royce was obviously a valiant and genuine person, but Emily felt like she had to be as rigid as a wooden stake around him. Kind of how she used to feel about Hotch.

"Aw, we'll miss you." She sarcastically drawled, smiling as the man rolled his eyes and left the room, Rivers not far behind.

Royce stood, signaling for Hotch and Emily to follow suit.

"Alright, we're going to have to suit up completely, we'll be going into a heavily militarized area, and I don't want to take any chances with either of you, especially you, Prentiss, keep your wound extra protected. Meet me up front in a few moments, I'll have all our gear."

The duo nodded, and exited the room quickly, passing a glance to the other.

"You're okay with this?" Hotch asked softly, running his eyes over the stark white bandage covering her forming scar.

"Yes, Hotch, I'm not going to break, I'll just be super careful. I'm taking the medicine still, I'll be fine. Plus we're only just surveying a scene, we do it allllll the time at home."

He shook his head. "A simple yes would suffice, Prentiss."

She wrinkled her nose and smirked. "That wouldn't be any fun, sir."

They both paused, and the air seemed to go stagnant between them. Emily bit her tongue, she really needed to watch what she was saying. This wasn't Morgan, or Reid, or JJ, this was her boss, and casual light hearted flirtatious behavior was not the norm for them. But this back and forth kept going, and whatever the hell had happened last night in their room was still ingrained in her mind. She couldn't force herself to forget the slight pressure of his long fingers on her hips, and truthfully she wasn't that interested in forgetting it, not that she would ever convey the thought to him.

Seeing as he was still taken aback by her comment, she ran her tongue over the smooth portion of her teeth and sucked in a sharp breath.

"We should go outside and wait for Royce."

"After you."

...

When she was about five years old, Emily had locked herself in the tool shed of one of her summer homes during a game of hide and seek with her cousins. She had devised the perfect plan, if no one could open the door, no one would find her, and by default she'd have to win. However, five year olds don't have much of an understanding about air conditioning (or the lack thereof), and with the temperature being a sweltering 95 degrees, Emily was soon zapped of all energy and found herself lying on the wood floor of the shed when her cousins finally got the hint and picked the lock.

Her mother had never been so angry, and sometimes Emily thought about how her reaction had been very similar when she had found out about Emily's abortion, which said something. She had ranted on about heat stroke for about a month, and after she had Emily checked out by the family physician, she had banned hide and seek and their house.

Emily could think of maybe a handful of times that she'd ever been as uncomfortably hot as she had been in that shed (even when she had lived in Cairo for a few summers), and right now, was giving her childhood experience a run for its money.

It was well over 100 degrees, and while they were fortunate to not have any dust storms at the moment, it meant that the air hung like a thick blanket, making breathing a laboring task. There was no breeze, and the sun was high in the sky, sending blinding beams of light down on Baghdad's inhabitants.

They had been out of their vehicle for maybe ten minutes, and Emily's stray hairs that had escaped her braided ponytail were stuck to the sides of her face from the sweat that was now dripping off of her. It was enough that they had to wear long sleeved shirts, long pants, and heavy boots, but the extra weight that the kevlar and other protective pieces of gear added was making things exponentially worse. Despite the amount of moisture on her body, her lips were as dry as the Sahara and no matter how many times she ran her tongue over them nothing would change. To make matters worse, she was perspiring under her bandage which was creating the most irritating itch sensation around her fresh stitches.

Royce and Hotch didn't seem to be faring any better though, Hotch had rolled his sleeves all the way past his elbows and his close-cropped hair was damp and flattened against his head beneath his headgear. Royce continuously readjusted his assault rifle on his shoulder and was taking very deep breaths as they walked through the streets of Baghdad.

In retrospect, there were more pressing matters to be concerned about rather than just the heat, but with the amount of military personnel in the vicinity, Emily felt pretty secure. She hated herself for being afraid, she knew the vast majority of the people who lived here would never wish to harm her, but the amount of paranoia from the crime scene last night was causing her to be on high alert.

"Where was Seargent Brown found?" Hotch breathed heavily next to her.

"Just a little ways up here, near that group of soldiers."

Emily gripped at the straps of her vest, trying to alleviate some of the crushing pressure that was causing her body temperature to sky-rocket.

"You okay, Agent Prentiss?"

"Yeah, I'm just sweating buckets." She candidly replied, ignoring the chuckle her answer evoked from Hotch.

"There should be some shade near the disposal site." Royce commented, gesturing to the nearest alleyway. "That's it."

Emily breathed a sigh of relief as they neared the spot, ignoring the way that the group of soldiers' conversation hushed to a whisper as the trio approached. She ran her eyes over the men, and suddenly recognized the private from yesterday.

Oh, joy.

Once they finally slipped between the two buildings creating the small bit of shade, Emily could feel her skin immediately begin to cool. She swore, if she had a sunburn from the minimal amount of time she had spent outside today she was going to be thoroughly pissed.

"This is where he was discovered." Royce motioned to a patch of dirt near a dumpster alongside the outer wall. "Just like he was in the picture you were shown, all layed out with that damned note."

Hotch peered around, squinting his eyes as he waltzed over to the dumpster. "The unsub didn't seem to want to display the body publically, so this must have been his hiding place, somewhere where he felt secure enough to leave a body of a high ranking American official and dash without anyone seeing a thing."

Emily bit her lip. "I have to disagree with you."

Hotch looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She blew air out her cheeks and twisted the tip of her ponytail between her fingers. "It's almost contradictory. The unsub leaves the body by a dumpster in an alley, so we'd assume that they doesn't want to make a statement with the Seargent's death, but then what's the point of the note? It's not for the unsub, it's for whoever was supposed to find the body. Plus, if they really didn't want Brown to be found, they could have cut up the body and put it into the dumpster like a lot of serial killers tend to do. This is just...odd, it's like the unsub doesn't even care if Brown was found, they're just leaving him beside the dumpster...discarding him like trash almost, but it doesn't have a malicious undertone to it."

"What the hell does that mean?" Royce asked.

"She actually might be onto something." Hotch said, walking back over to Emily. "It doesn't make sense that the unsub left the body in an alley with a note, usually when something like "No Good" is attached to a murder, it's a political or personal statement."

"Could it be some sort of anti-military proclamation?"

"Well, it would seem that way with Brown's body, but the second victim was most likely a Baghdad native, so that wouldn't make sense unless he was a mole or a spy of some sort, which is possible and should be considered."

Royce sighed. "Great. We're already in an area where our military is hated by almost everyone. Are we sure this isn't terrorist propaganda?"

Well I'm sure you wouldn't be too thrilled if your home country was constantly patrolled by a foreign military, Emily thought.

"Terrorists like Al Qaeda would have positioned Brown's body in public to make a scene. No one knew about his body except for the people who found it. It would be very backwards if Al Qaeda was behind this."

"Does this help us at all?"

Emily shrugged. "A little bit, it narrows down motive, but honestly I'm still confused about the dump site. I hate to say this, but I think we need another body."

"Unfortunately, I agree with you." Hotch groaned, wiping his brow.

"Well, we should get back and help Elliot and Rivers with the evidence we do have. It'll at least give us something." Royce sighed.

With one final look, Emily started to turn her back to the dumpster...until something caught her eye in the sand. A tiny dot of red and white stood out against the beige ground, and she furrowed her brow as she bent down to examine it.

"Guys, look at this."

She carefully picked the item up from the ground, making sure to hold it up in the light to get a good glance.

When she realized what she was holding, a short gasp erupted from the back of her throat.

It was a human cuspid tooth, and the tip was tainted with rust-colored dried blood.

"How long ago was the body found?" She asked.

"A little bit over a week ago."

"This is a canine tooth, it has blood on it, like...someone bit into something. Could it be Brown's? Even from a week ago?"

"It's not that much of a long shot." Hotch commented, glaring at the object in Emily's palm.

"Yeah, we should definitely bring it back." Royce added, looking out over the surrounding landscape. "But we need to get back before it gets too goddamn hot, or else we'll all be corpses out here soon."

Emily closed her hand around the tooth and grinned when she caught Hotch mid eye-roll. "I hear that."

The three of them began their long trek back to the tank they had rode over in, and Emily was already regretting stepping out of the shade. The sun blinded her almost immediately, and the salty taste of sweat returned to her top lip. She just had to make it to the tank, and then she could take off all these layers and drink some damn water, she'd be out of the heat soon.

A calm had seemed to settle on the bustling road, and she was slightly peeved that she had no distractions to keep her mind off of the oppressive heat.

On their way back, they passed by the privates again, who were still in the same spot as they had been before. The boy who had tried to entertain Emily before gave a quick wave and said something to his comrades, to which Emily shook her head. She was far too uncomfortable right now to even be bothered by the boys at the moment.

However, the heat didn't seem to be a problem to the boys, who called out to the group shortly after Emily was considering flinging herself onto the ground and giving up.

"Hello Agent Royce, nice seeing you out here sir!"

Royce turned to face the boys, Emily and Hotch right next to him.

Emily felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up straight, and a chill overcame her body despite the temperature.

Something wasn't right here, it was too quiet, far too quiet for a busy street in Baghdad.

Before she could voice any of her concerns, the ground beneath them rippled with extreme force and a powerful sonic boom tore into the heavy air, and everything went white.

...


	8. The Bomber

**A/N: suicide tw for this chapter!** its not horribly graphic but still!

* * *

Sand.

It was everywhere, it was in his eyes, in his ears (which were ringing with such an extreme frequency that he wondered if his head would pop any minute), and in his hair. He felt it crunch between his teeth as he licked his lips and tried to blink.

What was going on?

Why was he wet? It wasn't raining, he wasn't near water...

His heart skipped a beat.

Blood.

Why was there blood on him? There had been the blast, the ringing, and- oh god- the screaming, he could hear it now that he was beginning to come to his senses. Was he the one screaming?

No, no he wasn't, he knew that much for sure.

But he definitely smelled blood, he could recognize the metallic tang a mile away thanks to his years at the BAU.

If it wasn't his, who's was it?

He tried his hardest to recollect everything that had happened in the last few seconds. He had been walking next to Royce and Emily -

Royce.

Emily.

Was this their blood? Had they been the one fatal step closer to immediate death?

Pure, cold panic surged through his veins.

Get up, Hotch, get up.

He didn't realize he was speaking until his voice escalated high enough for his strained eardrums to pick up on.

Now, it was time to open his eyes.

The grains of sand ripped at his eyelids, causing a burning sensation that was close to unbearable, even for him.

But he did it anyways.

It looked like he had been dropped in the middle of a tornado. Dust was swirling all around him, disorienting him even more than he already was. Chaos; screams of pain and crying children pierced the air. Hotch suddenly remembered why he needed to get up.

One, he needed to find Emily and Royce.

Two, they needed to find the source of the EID, and determine whether or not they were in more immediate danger.

And three, well, he needed to make sure they were all in one piece. And breathing.

Hotch pushed himself to his knees, staying low on the ground as he pulled his Sig out from his holster and crawled forward. His vision was clearing slightly now, and God...there was so much blood. The explosion must have been incredibly close to where they had been waiting, and Hotch stomach dropped when he considered what this could mean for Royce, and...for Emily.

After a few seconds, he could finally make out shapes in the misty sandstorm. Several hundred feet ahead, he noticed an overturned tank with pieces of the exterior completely blown off. Thankfully, he was at least coherent enough to recognize that that was not the tank they had come in. Other figures began to form around the tank, but none of the shapes seemed to be complete, and Hotch didn't really recognize what they were.

He continued to scoot forward, scanning the area for the potential bombers, and bracing himself for a very likely second wave, but as of right now, he couldn't see a damn thing besides the tank and those mysterious figures.

Oh, God.

He had gotten close enough to the tank to realize what he was looking at.

The private who had taken a fancy to Emily and his friends had been standing right here, and from their position Hotch had to estimate that they had received the worst of the blast.

And their remains would confirm his theory too.

Body parts were strewn out in front of him, humans-young men, completely obliterated in a millisecond.

He felt his heart in his throat when he glanced to his right and saw a gory chunk of torso tossed aside in the dirt, like a discarded piece of trash.

For once, he couldn't stomach looking at a crime scene, he wanted to turn away so badly. But he couldn't.

He had to make sure Emily and Royce weren't among these mangled corpses. God help him, if they were, he wasn't entirely sure how he'd be able to force himself to continue.

Well, the blood he had been coated in had definitely come from here. It didn't reassure him much to confirm that it wasn't his own, especially as he crawled through the mass grave and desperately looked for any sign of his teammates.

On one hand, he was overjoyed that he didn't find anything that would lead him to believe Emily and Royce had been killed here, but that also meant they were still M.I.A.. What if there had been a raid? What if they had been taken in by rebels, mistaken for American soldiers? He couldn't...he had to stop thinking like that. They were here, somewhere.

He considered calling out, but his screams could attract the unsub if the they were still in the area, and Emily and Royce would have to be incredibly close to hear him over the roar of shrieking and sobbing that filled the Baghdad streets on the blistering morning.

He had to consider his options, and as of right now, everything looked pretty fucking bleak to him. He lowered his body back down to the ground for a moment, suddenly feeling faint from the amount of energy it had taken to crawl through the blinding sand. He just had to think of a plan...he was trained for this...

Hotch almost emptied his entire clip into the air when he felt a quick jolt of contact, like someone had shoved him from behind. He didn't waste any time, and despite his aching body he wheeled around and pointed the gun straight at the attacker's face.

"Hotch!"

Emily.

His Sig slipped from his fingers as soon as he registered the terror in her eyes from staring down the barrel of his gun.

"Oh my God, Emily." He gasped, reaching up and hurriedly brushing her completely disheveled ponytail away from her face. "Are you hurt? Are you okay? Oh God, you're bleeding."

"Yeah, I just bit my lip really hard when I hit the ground and the blood got everywhere. I'm okay, are you okay? You're covered in it."

He took in her appearance; his primary concern was her arm. Her gaze was stained with dried blood, and he allowed himself to exhale once he realized her stitches were fine. His eyes traveled to her appearance, streaked with mud and blood, and his heart shattered when he noticed that there were pure fair lines running down her cheeks where the dirt and blood had been washed away.

She had been crying.

He realized he had been to.

"Yes, it's not mine. It's..."

He motioned over to the horrible scene a few yards away and Emily's breath caught in her throat. "Oh my God."

"I know." He pushed back the lump in his throat and tried to bring Emily's focus back to him. "Emily, did you see Royce? Where did you come from?"

"Behind you, I crawled over because I figured the bomber...or bombers could still be here. I don't know where Royce is but... God Hotch, so many civilians. It's not fair."

"It's not fair, I know. But we can't worry about that right now. We need to find Royce and figure out what happened."

Emily bit her wounded lip and stared off into the distance. Hotch resisted the urge to shake her, now was really not the time to disassociate, he needed her fast reflexes and sharp mind now more than ever. But when her expression changed slightly, he followed her line of sight.

Royce was pulling himself over to the duo, half-limping half-crawling and holding his massive assault rifle in one arm. He wasn't covered in nearly as much gore as Hotch or Emily.

"Agents!" He whispered urgently once he got close enough. "Are you alright? Please tell me all that blood isn't yours."

"It's not, but Chief..." Hotch pointed over to where the privates' bodies were scattered about.

Royce's expression dropped for a full second, before he forced himself to harden again and with a quick sniff, he turned his attention back to his team. "A goddamn horror show."

"What happened? Where did you get thrown?" Emily asked, her voice strained.

"Not far, I presume, I was extremely disoriented at first but I forced myself in the direction of the tank; I knew if you both were okay you'd go there too."

"We need to go back to it now. We can regroup and get more reinforcements out here, and a CSI team." Hotch said.

"What? We can't leave all these people! We don't even know if there's going to be another blast, usually terrorist attacks have multiple waves, we can't abandon them!" Emily frantically cried, her voice raising too high for Hotch's comfort.

"He's saying we'll come back with more people, Prentiss. We would cause more harm than help here, we need more people." Royce placed a hand on her shoulder, and Emily suddenly went rigid.

Hotch braced himself for her sharp rebuttal to the physical contact, but once she didn't relax after a few seconds, he straightened up and tried to regain her attention.

"Emily, what is it?"

Her chocolate brown eyes were wide, seeming to take up half of her face. "We're not alone."

"What do you mean?" Royce asked, his tone demanding.

Emily slowly pulled her Glock from her holster, and Hotch was instantly following her line of sight and doing the same with his weapon. Now was not the time to doubt her, she was rarely wrong, and she was obviously seeing something he wasn't.

"Where?" Hotch leaned down next to Emily, close enough to whisper into her ear. "Don't point, just tell me."

"My 12 o'clock, in that doorway. He's been watching us for the past few minutes. He's the only person not panicking, and he has a cellphone in his hand."

Hotch squinted and locked in on what she was talking about. A shadowy figure was hovering behind the entrance structure of a building a good distance away. Far enough away to not be affected by the bomb, but close enough to activate it and watch as the bodies burned.

"I see him too." Royce murmured, glancing over to the side. "I don't know where the other patrolling troops are, or if they're even still alive, but I think we should try to do something about this."

"Agreed." Hotch muttered, watching Emily's jaw clench as she lifted herself up slightly.

He kept his eyes trained on the man, who was seemed to be staring straight through him. He must know by their body language (or at least Emily's, she looked like she was about to pounce) that they were coming for him.

Hotch's thoughts were confirmed within the next minute, because the man gave one last long look at the Agents and bolted into the building.

The word "go" hadn't even left Royce's lips before Hotch and Emily rocketed from their position on in the dirt. Despite the dull pain, Hotch pushed forward, forcing himself to sprint full speed ahead despite the very possible explosion of another bomb. They didn't have time to be cautious right now, they needed their bomber.

And he was going to get him.

Emily, surprisingly, was right on his heels. He knew she had been putting in a little bit more time in the gym with Morgan lately, but her speed right now was definitely impacted by pure adrenaline.

She matched his pace within the next few seconds as she shot through the doorway with every bit of energy she had. Hotch was about to reprimand her for her recklessness, until she snapped her gun forward and charged forward, completely taking point in front of him.

If they were back in Quantico and she ever pulled that move, he could have easily put her ass on desk duty for months, but he knew she wasn't doing it out of disobedience; time was of the essence and she was moving faster. She made the right call, and he had to cover her back now.

"Where did he go?" She hissed, pivoting around, her hair almost swatting Hotch in the face. "This building isn't that spacious."

"I'm not sure, be extremely careful." He growled, making sure she wouldn't break rank again no matter how much it made sense. Emily might be incredibly courageous and reckless to a fault, but she didn't have a death wish. "He's most likely going to try to fight his way out, or take us down with him."

"Where's Royce?"

"Behind you." The rasped whisper of their leader echoed in the dim room.

"Out the back!" Emily yelled, running in the direction of the back of the building. Hotch noticed a flash of color that could only be clothing as the man booked it out the back door and into a back alleyway, and his stomach flipped when he remembered last night's alley scene.

Emily was out in front again, just like last night, and Hotch's anxiety only worsened as she put more distance between them. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself harder, forcing his body to catch up to her slender frame as she weaved around obstacles and gained ground on the suspect.

She was about five feet behind him, and Hotch only a few feet behind her, when the man suddenly wheeled around, clutching a sleek black handgun between his fingers.

Time seemed to halt and inch forward in slow motion.

The man was white, and his hair was shaven so closely to his head in such a uniform fashion that Hotch felt his breath catch.

He looked like he would belong in the military.

Hotch's complete horror didn't stop there. Emily had skidded to a full stop in front of the suspect, inches away from his chest. The man could easily reach out and touch her, or press the gun to her forehead and end it within a second.

And now, he looked like he was saying something to her.

She didn't even have time to raise her weapon before the unsub's finger pressed the trigger.

The POW sound exploded in the open air, and bright red spurts coated the ground as the man fell to the dirt, lifeless.

Except Emily hadn't been the one taking the shot, and at the moment, she was in complete shock.

Hotch's mouth hung open as he slowed to a walk.

The man had turned the gun on himself in an instant, but it hadn't been a very clean execution. He'd missed the exact entry points for a headshot, and instead had blown his brains out, quite literally. And they were currently covering Emily's front, from her hair to her thighs.

He finally felt like he could move forward at a normal pace again, and his first immediate concern was the woman in front of him who looked like she might just lose it.

"Chief, can you give us a second?" Hotch asked, watching Royce lean down and look on pitifully at the man's face, or what was left of it.

" 'Course...I'm going to examine him for evidence or...something."

Hotch didn't have time to worry for Royce, he knew he'd definitely seen worse, but a suicide that graphic at such close range was bound to rattle anyone.

The bile in his throat was still choking him up himself.

Ignoring his personal qualms, he firmly gripped Emily's shoulders and pulled her away from where she was locked in place, staring down at the unsub with her jaw on the ground.

As soon as he touched her, his hands were coated in gore and...brains. His stomach threatened to empty itself.

"It's all over me."

Her first words made him jump slightly, he wasn't sure why. It didn't matter.

Stopping in his tracks once he had given the body enough of a wide berth, he gently pushed down on Emily's shoulders, and - just as he suspected - her trembling legs folded with the tiniest amount of pressure as she came to a sitting position.

That miniscule amount of movement was enough to set her surely upset stomach off, and vicious heaves racked her crumpled frame.

Hotch dropped down next to her, trying to look away when her vomit mixed with the suspect's blood that was dripping off her body into the dust.

"Breathe." He said once her retching turned into a violent coughing fit. He reached out, unfastening her helmet and letting it slide to the ground. They were somewhat safe for the time being, and God knows the extra weight was just adding heat.

She began to calm, well, relatively speaking. At least her coughing stopped.

Emily looked over at Hotch, and he forced himself not to grimace at just how much blood was coating her face right now.

"Hotch."

"What?"

Her breathing still wasn't regular, thanks to the sprinting and the added shock value of the snap-suicide, and her shallow gasps for air were starting to worry him a bit.

"Honey, I know it's hard but you really need to try to take deep breaths."

He paused, a sweeping wave of embarrassment washing over him as he realized he let an endearment slip, but Emily was definitely too distracted to care. She just nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, curling into herself to place her head between her scraped up knees that were now visible through the fresh tears in her pants.

"Better." He muttered once she didn't sound like she was at the risk of running out of oxygen.

She finally lifted her head and blinked open glassy brown eyes. Emily inhaled and pulled her shoulders back before mechanically turning her head to face Hotch.

"I think...I must have been a shitty person in my past life, because karma has really fucked me these last two days."

Hotch snorted and shook his head. Of course she would try to brush this off with a joke, that was so Emily and in a way, a weight came off his shoulders. She was fine.

"Maybe it's because you run too fast." He said slowly, watching her dark eyes flash.

"Or you're just slow as molasses."

He almost chuckled. "You're probably right,"

She returned the almost-chuckle with an almost-smile, but quickly turned her gaze back down to her crimson colored hands.

"He said something to me."

"What did he say?"

She gulped and her face fell again, her body following with a sharp shudder.

"He said, 'we do this because of people like you'. I don't know what he means, or who 'they' are but, I think someone is seriously pissed off that we're here."

Hotch's brow furrowed. The statement didn't really make sense, there had been a lone bomber today, and if his assumptions were correct, the unsub had been referring to the previous murders, that were also executed by seemingly single suspects.

It was a clue, however. Something that they could definitely use, at least to get one step ahead for next time. If there was a pack mentality, it meant everything in the profile had to be altered.

Maybe, just maybe, this horrid exchange had been a blessing in disguise.

"C'mon," He finally replied, pushing his weary legs up and cautiously tugging Emily with him as she gathered her head gear. "Let's go get you cleaned up, we'll talk about it more later."

She nodded again, her eyes cast downward as the pair stiffly walked over to where Royce had been patiently waiting.

Emily's hand was knotted into the back of Hotch's shirt, her fist clenching so tightly Hotch could feel her nails dig into his skin through the fabric. A lumped formed in his throat once more. Emily wouldn't be caught dead holding onto ANYONE like this, and it was a testament to just how shaken she was that she was doing it to him. He wrapped his arm around her slender hips and locked his hand in position right above her waistline.

So if she faltered, he'd catch her in an instant.

...


	9. Two to Tango

Normally, Hotch was opposed to drowning his problems in alcohol.

His father had found solace in the bottom of a bottle for the majority of Hotch's childhood, and due to this, Hotch, his mother, and his brother Sean had experienced the rage that came with it. He himself had slipped into a slight alcoholic state in high school thanks to his father's death (from liver damage, it would have been ironic if it didn't still sting), but once he had met Haley he vowed to go light on the juice, especially when Jack came into the picture.

It turned out to be his job that ended up tearing his family apart at the seams, not liquor.

But then Doc had knocked on their door, telling them to come have a few beers and a couple shots with Rivers to get the horror of the day erased from their minds, at least for a brief moment.

Hotch was going to decline, knowing full well they definitely weren't supposed to be storing alcohol in their rooms, but Emily; who had been remarkably silent since she had returned from her hour-long shower, basically jumped at the idea. She was desperate for a distraction, and Hotch decided it would be best to join her, in case the drinks only made things worse.

Right now, however, he was very, very glad that they had decided to join their teammates.

He had downed about two beers and taken a single shot (because Emily had wanted him to do one with her), so he was pleasantly buzzed enough to be enjoying he and Emily's trek back to their own room.

By regular standards, he was on the verge of tipsy; sober enough to be cognitive but far enough gone to flirt back with his partner, who seemed to become more of an extrovert with each shot she threw back.

Emily was drunk. Not messily smashed, which he appreciated, but she had continued to take more tequila shots after the one she shared with Hotch, so she was undoubtedly feeling a generous amount of buzz.

Luckily, she was an acutely happy drunk, and her trauma from the day seemed to wash away with her fifth shot.

Hotch tended to become solemn when drinking, especially when he was in private, but Emily's sunny disposition and Doc and Rivers' jovial laughter had put him in a damn good mood. He hadn't even realized how late it had been until they discovered that they were the only ones making noise anymore.

Which thus, lead to Emily and Hotch's journey back, which was far more arduous than anticipated.

Mostly because Emily was hell bent on challenging Hotch's self-restraint. If he'd thought she was a touchy person sober, it only magnified with every drink she finished. He'd spent enough time with her and the rest of the team at bars and clubs, but the equally physical Derek or occasionally brazen JJ were usually there to eagerly entertain their attractive, flirtatious co-worker.

Doc had been keeping her relatively busy earlier, it was obvious she was comfortable around him and his friendly nature increased with his blood alcohol content, but she'd kept a good majority of her attention on Hotch, which was more than he bargained for.

"You move so sloooow." Her slurred voice drawled out, echoing in the narrow hallways.

For someone with a load of booze in her system, Emily was spectacularly good at not stumbling around like a fool. She was leaning against the wall, waiting for Hotch to catch up after her normal paced walk had picked up in a rush of drunken stupor.

Her naturally dried waves framed her blushed, pink cheeks and Hotch could see the devious twinkle in her eyes from where he was, an identical sentiment to the pressed smirk painted on her lips.

She looked tousled, youthful, and prepossessing. It was almost too much, but Hotch didn't care. They wouldn't remember how stupid they were acting tomorrow, or it would be clouded in a haze. He wouldn't dare try anything that would cross any sort of line, but the casual teasing and the toying, suggestive glances weren't doing any damage.

He finally reached where she was and was greeted with a firm grip of his hand and a tug in the direction of their room. Emily was full-speed ahead constantly, even when inebriated, and for some reason that tickled Hotch's sense of humor.

"Slow down, Prentiss." He chuckled, and she rotated her body so she was walking backwards (well, now she was starting to stumble like a fool).

"C'mon, I wanna be in bed." Faux whining was cut off with intoxicated giggles that Hotch could never imagine coming out of a girl like Emily.

"You cannot possibly be ready to sleep."

She stopped for a moment and raised a brow accompanied with a sultry expression that made his knees feel wobbly.

"When did I say anything sleep?"

Her own pass made her crack up to the point where she was against the wall again, holding her body up, and she was practically in stitches by the time Hotch regrouped.

"You're ridiculous, and loud." He whispered, his hands finding her shoulders as they pulled her from her spot.

"I can walk by myself." She mumbled, whipping herself back around.

"I can see that."

She flashed an extravagant smile before dramatically strutting back to the room to get her point across, Hotch not far behind.

It was taking her a good minute to fit the key into the lock, despite the numerous offers made by Hotch for assistance, but in true Emily fashion she wanted to do it completely alone.

"The lock definitely changed size." She laughed, pressing her back against Hotch's chest and letting her head loll against his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes and met the idiotic, vulpine grin spread out on her face. "You and your excuses, Prentiss."

"I bet you can't get it."

Hotch sighed, shaking his head before wrapping an arm around Emily's hip to steady their weight before pushing the key perfectly into the lock the first time.

"That's not fair, I'm way more fucked up than you are right now."

He replied with a genuine laugh. "Excuses."

"Whatever you say, honey."

Hotch's cheeks colored instantly, and he glanced down at the smug little expression that was peering up at him. She batted her eyelashes playfully, and reached up to pat his cheek lightly before pursing her lips.

"I'm just messing around, it was really sweet of you."

If he wasn't blushing before, he was sure that his face was the color of a deepening sunset right about now.

"You are a pain in my ass."

She giggled, pushing the door open and prancing inside like a deer.

"Where does all this attitude go when you're sober, huh?" He leered, plopping down on his bed as Emily swayed in the middle of the room.

"Locked up." She winked.

"You definitely had to be a theater kid."

"Nope."

"Was I close?"

She shrugged. "I danced until I moved out for college, if that counts."

Hotch was suddenly interested. "Really? What kind?"

"All kinds. My mother wanted me to be classy and poised, so I started ballet when I was three, and eventually took tap and lyrical, and then she decided to stick me into ballroom dancing, as if pink leotards weren't already an embarrassment for me."

"You're lying."

"I am not!"

"Ballroom, really? You?"

She snorted. "Yes me."

"Can you...hmm...tango and waltz and all that stuff?"

She almost landed on top of him with an enthusiastic bound forward. "I could literally teach you a basic waltz right now."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, and peered into Emily's eyes. She was utterly breathtaking, fresh-faced and sensual. Her curls tangled down and teased at his exposed skin, and the expectant smile draped on her lips only seemed to grow the longer he stared.

He caved.

"Alright, show me."

The statement was barely out of his lips before Emily yanked him up and positioned his body flush against hers, causing every nerve inside of him to catch flame and burn.

"Hold your arms like this, and put your one of your hands on me like this."

Having Emily guide his fingers down her sides and to her spine wasn't doing anything good for his self control either. Everytime she exhaled, he could smell the sharp, fiery tequila still dancing on her tongue, and there was nothing he wanted more than taste it.

"Ready?" She grinned, her face inches from his.

He nodded, returning her smile and following her surprisingly graceful lead.

At first, it was a lot of stumbling on his part and giggling on hers, but eventually Hotch found where he needed to put his feet, and despite their drunkenness, the pair fell almost perfectly in sync.

"I don't know much about dancing, Emily, but I'm pretty sure the waltz doesn't involve that much hip movement."

She rolled her eyes and smirked. "You sound just like my mother."

"Just being technical."

Emily just hummed and rested the side of her face against his chest, her suggestive teasing evaporating along with her energy.

"Tired?" Hotch murmured softly into her hair.

"Yeah, and really sore."

"Me too."

She didn't respond, but instead broke their hold and pulled away slightly.

"Hotch-"

"If you want me to back off, I will."

"No," she shook her head, her glassy eyes searching his, "thank you, um, for everything today. I know this stuff is just as hard on you but you constantly try to make me feel better."

Sadness welled up inside of his throat. "You do too."

"Plus, dare I say it, you're very fun."

Hotch scoffed. "Thank you, I think."

"It was a compliment, I promise."

They stood rooted to the wooden floor, neither willing to pull away any further. Emily knew it was the juice talking, but she couldn't stop her hands from going up to frame the side of Hotch's face and run down through his hair until they rested comfortably, linked behind his neck.

The distance between them had closed again, and Hotch found himself tilting Emily's chin up with his thumbs. Her eyelids had drooped shut, and her gorgeous, lengthy lashes fanned out, almost giving her a china doll-esque look with her perfectly parted red lips.

Hotch's mind was swimming as he lowered his mouth down to the point where there were mere inches between them. The scent of tequila hit him again, and a knot tightened down in his stomach.

He still desperately wanted a taste.

But it was her breath that told him to stop. He knew his smelled similarly, neither one of them were sober enough for this and there was no telling if Emily would even remember this tomorrow.

No, he couldn't.

"Emily." He whispered, catching her attention completely.

Her almond shaped eyes lifted open, and Hotch ran the tips of his thumbs over Emily's curved jawline.

"Not right now. We're not sober, and if we really want to do this, I want to be able to remember everything about it."

She nodded. "I know, you're right, I just-"

"I know."

She sighed. "We've only been here two nights and we're already at this point."

"Guess we're the type to bottle things up back home." He chuckled.

The tiniest intoxicated giggle answered him. "Yeah, but still, I feel like a teenager or something."

"Like you said, I'm very fun."

Hotch got an eyeroll for that one.

"Tired finally?" He asked.

"Mhmm."

"Good, we both need some sleep. Are you okay if I go freshen up?"

"Hotch, I'm not that drunk."

He shook his head, pausing for a moment before pulling Emily against him one last time for a brief hug. She tucked her head under his chin and squeezed back before slipping out of the embrace and dropping into her bed with a loud thump.

"Goodnight." He said as he opened the door.

"Night." She echoed, her voice slurred even more dramatically from exhaustion.

Hotch smiled and closed the door completely behind him before he allowed himself to release an incredibly frustrated growl.

It was time for an extremely cold shower.

...


	10. Essential Emily

The next week and several days were incredibly sobering.

Royce and a few other high ranking military officials had been in constant contact with the Iraqi police force, attempting to make any of this mess clearer. Doc was constantly running his evidence back and forth, picking up the bits and pieces that seemed meaningless. Rivers was always busy, he had connections with other bases in the area and was out a lot of the time, trying to gather more information, sitings, occurrences, anything to assist the case that was slowly going cold.

And Hotch and Emily were left to revise the already beaten to death profile.

In other words, they were sitting on their asses, twiddling their thumbs.

Emily had been given Hotch a relatively wide berth after that night, and he could obviously see that she remembered what had happened, and in her attempt to make the situation disappear it was just becoming more apparent.

Hotch wasn't really interested in addressing it just quite yet, he had an inkling that it would sort itself out, he didn't know many things about Emily but he did know that she thrived off of physical and emotional interaction, and she wouldn't keep things icy forever.

Especially considering now that they were spending the majority of their time together on this hellish profile.

Currently, they were holed up in their room, listening to the rain patter against the roof (yes, apparently it rained in Iraq, Emily had rolled her eyes and scoffed when Hotch had been surprised by this), and not really paying attention to their work.

Hotch had just gotten off the phone after an hour long conversation with his son. Emily had noticed near the end that his tone had gone from caring and playful to extremely stoic and stern, and she guessed that's when Haley decided to take over the call.

Emily didn't really mind listening to Hotch on the phone, and he didn't seem to have any problem with her overhearing it. She almost enjoyed the way his voice would raise an octave when he spoke to Jack, and the amazement that laced his tone whenever his son seemed to say anything remotely interesting made Emily's stomach flip.

She was getting a headache from staring at the fine print of these files, and she stretched one sweatpant clothed leg out and yawned, running her fingers through her hair. It was warm in their room, warm enough for Emily to be comfortable in her sweats and a tank top at the same time, but not necessarily an ideal temperature either.

Hotch had lifted his head from his work, peering over at the woman across from him. She looked tired; in the simplest of words. Visible scrapes and cuts could be seen from her encounter the first night and the bombing the second. Her hand was still completely bandaged, a stark white contrast to slightly olive skin. And on her neck, the last traces of the garrish finger-shaped bruises were finally blossoming into the yellowish brown color that meant healing was happening.

"Has your mom called recently?"

She quickly shifted her eyes upward, and met the gaze of her superior, who had evidently been watching her for a good period of time before asking said question. She grit her teeth, truly wishing that Hotch hadn't just asked about her mother, someone she'd been trying to keep out of her mind while she was here.

"Nope, the last time we talked was after we landed here. She'll call when she actually gets worried, which won't be for a while."

She bit the edge of her lip, casting her eyes back down, fully aware of how bitter her statement made her sound, but at this point Emily didn't give a shit. She'd been candid with Hotch about other things here, her dilapidated, damaged relationship with her mother just got added to the list.

"You don't want to call her?"

"I'm sure she's busy."

"Prentiss, a lot has happened in the past few days, especially to you specifically."

"It's not like it'll be on the news, it'll just worry her more if she knows, plus I'm obviously fine." She was trying her best to not sound like she wanted to take the man's head off.

"Are you?"

She took a deep breath before lifting her head up and meeting Hotch's eyes for a solid five seconds before replying. "Yes. Do you think differently?"

"You're exhausted."

"And you aren't?"

"I'm talking about you."

"Hotch, please, I don't want to talk to my mother right now. I just want to finish this damn profile so we can figure out what the hell is going on and then we leave."

She wanted to kick her own ass, because if there was ever a way to ensure that Hotch wouldn't leave you alone, it was to insist you were fine until your words said otherwise, and hers just had.

He closed the notebook he had been keeping scribbled down thoughts in, and sat forward a bit, giving Emily his undivided attention.

She had pulled her stare back down at her work, hoping to mask the brimming tears that were forming along the waterline of her eyes.

"Remember what I said when we first got here?"

Emily swallowed, striving to remain apathetic.

"About keeping it together for everyone else, but letting me know if you're struggling?"

She locked her jaw in place.

"Emily..."

Her last bit of self preservation dissipated, and with it, a single tear managed to escape and roll lazily down her cheek.

"What do you want me to say, that I can't do this?" She whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

"I didn't imply that at all."

Emily realized she had to take another blow to her pride and wipe the tears away from her face, telling Hotch she was crying, before she was sniffling an embarrassing amount.

"I know you didn't, I just..."

He was up the minute the back of her hand swiped across her cheekbone. It was a Hotch thing, he couldn't see a woman crying and not do anything about it. Emily had seen it first-hand on a numerous amount of their cases, sometimes with JJ, sometimes with Garcia. It just hadn't happened to her until this trip.

She found it a bit patronizing, a bit intrusive, but she knew it was partially from his upbringing, the old chivalrous values his family had installed into him, and partially because he was just a genuinely good man.

Before she could hop off her bed and make a run for the bathroom; somewhere he couldn't follow, the mattress was dipping with his weight, and creaking slightly as he settled in next to her, the soft cotton of his t shirt brushing against her bare shoulder.

She bit into the inside of her cheek, and a few more tears fell out. She was bracing herself, waiting for whatever he was going to say to try to make things okay that would ultimately just make her feel worse.

It didn't come.

She finally allowed herself to glance up at him and meet his fixed look. "What are you going to say?"

He shrugged, but the way he was watching her was anything but casual. "Nothing, I'm just here if you want to say anything."

She snorted, shaking her head before becoming improbably absorbed in a small bruise on the inside of her elbow.

"What?"

"Just...I don't always believe it when men say they want to listen to what I have to say without interjecting anything."

It was Hotch's turn to guffaw. "I can understand that."

She tried to smile at his remark, but it only twisted her face into a grimace as a tear dripped, landing on the bruise she had been so enthralled by.

"This is just..."

Emily's words cut off with the beginnings of a sob, and she forced herself to suppress the urge to become a blubbering mess before she continued.

"This is all fucking bullshit."

It didn't really matter that she had taken the time to control herself before finishing her statement, because the second she spit out her sentence her body sold her out, releasing small gasping sobs that weren't fueled by sadness, but by anger. Emily wasn't sure which she thought was worse.

"What do you mean?" His voice came out steady, and she felt his hand rest on her shoulder, his thumb carefully rubbing a circle against her skin.

"It's bullshit, it's complete fucking bullshit. We're not getting anywhere, thousands of people are being obliterated by IEDs because of this case, it's turning people into man-eating animals for what? I don't see any goddamn purpose for this other than to utterly tear this already beaten place apart at the fucking seams and...we're just not getting anything at all, and I'm tired."

She paused, waiting for Hotch to comment, but he just continued to stroke her shoulder, fully aware she wasn't done.

"I'm tired of feeling like I don't belong here, I'm tired of being looked at like I'm a piece of fucking meat or just not being looked at all. I haven't done anything useful since we've been here, I've just been the victim…. your helpless sidekick who can't take shit."

"Emily, you're not-"

"No, you know it's true." She turned back towards him, taking in his expression. His face, as always, was completely stoic, but there was a panic in his gaze that definitely told her he wasn't prepared for her rage, he had been prepared for sorrow.

She breathed in shakily before continuing. "It's why Carrison or whatever the hell his name is was so worried about sending me, its why Royce has been consistently on my ass about combat skills, and why Rivers took one look at me and knew I wouldn't make it."

He shook his head. "Okay, you're going to have to listen to be interrupt you because I'm not going to let you talk about yourself like this."

"You're not going to let me?" She growled, a challenge in her tone.

"No, you are so wrong, Emily. You're the reason we're making progress. You've been the one out in front during every single chase we've had, totally unafraid and willing, ready to do your damn job. I've found myself looking to you now more than ever, because I trust you. I trust you to make the right decisions and hell, I'd put my life in your hands a million times before I'd ever give it to Royce or Rivers."

She blinked, flicking a strand of wayward hair away from her face.

"You're lying."

"You have to believe that I'm not. I swear to god, you are so important here. Forget that, not only here, you are so important. No man, especially no man in this building should ever make you feel differently."

She sucked her lower lip in between her teeth and sniffed, knowing she had nothing to fire back with.

"It's partially my fault, I never bothered to tell you how essential you are. From day one, I've written you off and pushed you aside, only using your talents when it was beneficial for me, and I cannot stress enough how sorry I am for doing that to you. You just appeared at the worst time, in the heat of my problems with Haley and the mess at work with Strauss, that I never got the chance to actually step back and take a look at who you were. And I know that's no excuse, but god, Emily, I don't know what I would have done without you this past year. I mean that, truly."

Emily stared down at her hands, her cheeks on fire and another round of sobs threatening to push out of her throat. She was at a complete loss.

Honestly, it never really occurred to her that her boss ever gave her much thought. She'd do things for him, granted, but she never expected anything more than a simple 'thanks' or a nod of the head. This was overwhelming, and if she was being honest, much needed.

"You were a bit of a jackass." She said quietly, hoping he'd catch her light jab.

He chuckled. Good.

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry." He replied, moving his hand from her arm into her dark hair that tumbled down over her shoulder. His fingers separated the strands, tugging gently at Emily's scalp, giving her the tingle that often came whenever someone played with her hair.

She couldn't remember the last time someone had, though.

"Do you feel any better?"

It was her turn to chuckle. "Um, I guess? A little embarrassed, but I'll live."

"You don't have anything to be embarrassed about."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, unconsciously leaning against Hotch's hand against the back of her head. He seemed surprised that she hadn't swatted him away yet, but she really didn't feel like it.

"Are you still angry?" He asked after several seconds passed.

"Aren't I always?"

He smiled. "Yeah, you might be right."

He pulled his hand away, and Emily had to keep from vocally protesting at the sudden loss of contact, although Hotch definitely saw the irritated look on her face when he moved.

"Where are you going?" She said, watching him drop off the bed and slip his shoes on.

"Come with me." He beckoned, motioning for Emily to follow his lead. "We're gonna take care of some of your boiling rage, Miss Hulk."


	11. Sweat Equity

Emily trailed Hotch all the way to the training center without a single complaint.

She was almost in awe of his child-like enthusiasm at the moment, he was fully devoted to making her feel better and it was touching. She didn't know exactly what he wanted her to do, but she wasn't concerned. Her tears had ceased, and a miniscule smile was beginning to creep up on the corners of her lips with each step she and Hotch took.

"What are we doing here? It's like 1am." She grinned, enjoying the utter silence that enveloped them as they entered through the double doors. Considering almost everyone on this base had set times for wake-up, the halls were generally very empty after midnight. Hotch had certainly taken this into account when fixing his plan for their outing.

He raised an eyebrow and led her over to where the punching bags were hung in neat rows against the far wall. "Like I said, we're going to help you release some anger."

"Boxing?"

"You ever boxed before, Prentiss?"

"No."

He nodded. "Not super difficult."

After tying her hair behind her head in a quick ponytail, Emily ran her hand over the worn vinyl material of the bag as Hotch moved to the side of the room, rummaging through some plastic bin. She could see the dirt in between the fibers of the fabric, and the beaten seams that told a story of every glove they'd ever felt against them.

She had been telling the truth, she had never boxed before in her life. Her mother told her that young women needed to be poised, and to be poised a girl should know how to express herself through dance. Now, dancing was all fine and good, but Emily never considered herself graceful and fluid, she was never happy with leaping into the air and landing on the tip of her toes, pretending to enjoy the pain for the elegance of it all. She was rough around the edges, a lot like the bag in front of her, and hardened. Her mother never understood that.

"Let's see if these fit you."

Hotch returned, holding two large boxing gloves the hue of fresh cherries in his grip. Emily compliantly held out her hands as Hotch gingerly slipped the first glove over her injured hand, and followed with the second. They were snug, and she assumed that was how it was meant to be.

She couldn't help but giggle at how out of proportion this looked for her, and she examined each glove up close as Hotch tied them off before stepping back.

"Put 'em up." He said, taking a good look at the fit of the gloves before nodding. "You'll be fine."

"What do you want me to do, Coach." She joked.

He motioned towards the bag she'd had her hands on moments before. "Go ahead."

"Just punch?"

He smiled. "Yeah, give it a try."

Emily raised an eyebrow before facing the bag. She had never been interested in trying boxing before, but Hotch was clearly going the extra mile to make her happy tonight, and it was the least she could do for him after his little speech earlier.

She attempted to channel her previous frustrations into her fists before swinging out, clipping the bag with a good amount of force. The boxing bag swayed backwards, but to Emily's disappointment, mostly stayed in place.

She looked back at Hotch, shooting him an innocent grin. "And?"

"Prentiss, I watched you hand Rivers' ass to him in this very gym. I know you can hit so much harder than that."

She sighed and rolled her shoulders. If there was one thing she was a sucker for, it was Hotch's validation.

So she took it a little more seriously this time. Emily jump-started her muscles, pushing her weight forward and bending her knees, bouncing on the balls of her feet to get some momentum. She stared hard at the bag, pin-pointing the specks of dirt that she had been playing with just before. That was her target.

She brought her fists up in front of her face, just like she saw in the movies, and balanced her stance perfectly before striking out, this time with an abundance of power that seemed to slip straight out of her body with a dedicated grunt.

And this time, when she hit the bag, it moved.

She heard Hotch's impressed exhale before she allowed herself to look up and witness the bag slam backwards with an incredible amount of force, enough that it was going to pack a punch for her if she didn't hit it again.

Hit it again, the voice in the back of her head whispered, you know you feel good.

It was the truth; Hotch had been right. With her successful punch, all of the irate emotions she had been experiencing in the room came flooding back. Her mind flashed back to her first night in Baghdad, when the carnivorous man had her pinned to the ground, wiggling and withering away under his hands. She recollected the mass carnage in the streets after the bomb had blasted her eardrums, the cold fear when she couldn't find Hotch, and she vividly recalled being coated in the bomber's brains as his body flopped back into the sand.

And she was pissed all over again.

So by the time the bag came back at her, she wasn't just doing it to impress Hotch anymore. She was doing it because she was mad. As hell.

The next hit was even harder, and the gym filled with the sound of leather on vinyl as Emily landed her blow, not even pausing before sending another fist into the bag. And another, and another, and another, until she had found her perfect rhythm.

She wasn't conscious of how much time was passing with each jab, but by the time her arms screamed for her to stop and her thighs were quivering from constantly hopping backwards and forwards, her breathing was incredibly labored and her body was slick with a thin layer of sweat.

The next time the bag swung back, she simply put out her gloved hand and stopped it, letting it roll to the side and twist a few times, before dangling back in its resting position.

Hotch was right, she felt significantly better just from punching that inanimate object over and over.

Emily drew her body up, taking deep gasping breaths. She finally threw a glance over at Hotch, who was rooted in his spot, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly open. He was impressed.

"And?" She repeated, holding up her gloves to be undone.

"I'm just glad I wasn't on the other side of that punch." He smiled, cautiously pulling the gloves away from her hands. Emily clenched her fists to release her cramped muscles, and she wiped the persperation from her palms against her gray sweats.

"Like you said, I'm angry."

"How do you feel?"

"Better, I think," She said between hefty breaths, "that was actually kind of fun."

He snorted. "Yeah, when you're packing that much strength in a tiny body like yours, I'm sure it is."

Hotch examined Emily while she caught her breath. Her messy ponytail was falling out and her hair was sticking to her neck and face. Her cheeks were flushed a deep shade of pink, and the soft glow of sweat highlighted her skin, making his jaw clench. Her substantial gasps were accentuating her perfect chest, and his eyes wandered from her immaculate collarbones down to the practical amount of cleavage that the tank top displayed.

Holy hell, she was alluring, and frankly tempting as fuck.

Emily's gaze flicked back up to Hotch, who's own glance had been lingering on her for a little bit longer than usual. He finally lifted his eyes and looked at her head on. She saw it in his expression, and she knew damn well she was wearing the same one.

"Emily..."

Before he could finish his half-hearted explanation as to why there could never be anything but long, lustful glances shared between the two of them, Emily gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked him down a few inches to her level before crashing her lips into his.

He didn't take but two seconds to react, wrapping his arms greedily around her lean body, pulling her close, running his hands down her sides as their kiss only got more intense and sloppy by the minute. Emily's fingers were in his hair by now, and he could taste the salty tinge of sweat on her lips. It only made him want her that much more.

Hotch's nagging integrity nipped at his brain, whispering at him to get his hands off of his subordinate's hips and his tongue out of her mouth.

For a moment, he thought he just might do the right thing and listen to his conscience.

But Emily was making it unbelievably difficult. Her hands had traveled down from his head to his chest, and despite the t shirt that covered him, he could feel the electric response his skin exploded with when her fingernails dug lightly against his breastbone.

She hadn't exactly lightened up on the kissing, either. It was evidently obvious that he hadn't been the only one bearing the brunt of the sexual tension between the pair, because Hotch truly couldn't remember the last time he'd ever been kissed like this.

Probably the last time he'd had sex.

"Emily." He mumbled against her lips, finally (and unhappily) removed his hands from her body and pulled away from the kiss.

He had every intention of stopping their contact right there, and forcing himself to suffer with the sliver of memory from this minute long embrace, but the second he looked down at the woman in front of him, every bit of his willpower evaporated.

She was utterly arresting. Her dark, thick hair already looked like she had been rolling around in bed for hours, framing her flushed cheeks like a picture frame. Huge doe eyes peered up at him through a dense forest of eyelashes, and her heart shaped lips were swollen from the makeout session, parted slightly, releasing soft breaths against his neck that sent the sharpest shivers up his spine. Her skin still glowed from her workout, and the taste of her was still fresh on his mouth.

He was done for.

"You don't want to-"

"No," he cut her off, his voice coming out far more husky than he intended, "not here."

He wrapped his hand around her delicate fingers and looked her straight in the eye. She'd been effortlessly cheeky and flirtatious the whole trip, but now she was silent, breathing heavily against his body, hanging onto every one of the syllables that dropped out of his mouth.

Hotch almost smirked. "Let's go back to the room."


	12. Want

**A/N:** I'm not exactly sure how explicit a story has to be for an M rating but this chapter, just to be safe, is rated M. (Maybe T but u know...just to be safe).

* * *

They'd barely been able to close the heavy wooden door behind them before they pounced on each other, hungrily gripping onto shirts and bumping teeth as Hotch managed to free one of his hands for a millisecond to reach out and lock the door.

He'd practically dragged Emily back to the room, promising her that he didn't want her to shower when she asked if she should; that she tasted amazing right now. He hadn't been lying, her sweat was salty and almost sickly sweet in a way that was driving him up a damn wall. He had to savor every inch of her smooth skin, his hands just weren't doing enough.

Apparently, she was in a very similar mood. Once they were secured in the room, Emily grabbed the band of Hotch's sweatpants and tugged his body against hers, hooking a sculpted thigh around his waist just as he got the memo and pushed her back against the smooth planks of the door.

He was desperately trying to resist moaning into her mouth with every careless collision of their hips, and he knew damn well that Emily was aware of just how badly he wanted this, because with each grinding movement his pants only got tighter and the devilish grin that he could feel growing on her lips only expanded.

Hotch was eventually able to tear his lips from Emily's and take a look at where he had her.

The woman he'd been watching for almost half a year, the woman he'd force himself to look away from when she wore something that highlighted every gorgeous curve on her body to work, the woman whose name had made his stomach jump when he heard it announced for this mission; with him. She was leaning back against the doorframe, her eyes half-closed and mouth half-open, one perfect leg hitched around his hips, and she was completely his in this moment.

"Why'd you stop." She murmured, her tone clipped and deep. Her fingers were still looped on his sweatpants, and he could feel her grip tighten slightly as he lifted a hand and ran his knuckles down the hollow of her neck.

"I want to look at you." He said, his voice distant and full of desire.

"You see me everyday." She replied, blinking slowly and gripping Hotch's fingers mid-stroke on her collarbone.

"Not like this." She had barely noticed him move forward, and suddenly his breath was in her ear, "You don't know how long I've wanted to see you like this."

Emily shivered, flinging an arm around Hotch's shoulders, pulling his weight down onto hers. "Show me."

"Are you completely sure about this?"

His mouth was slowly traveling down the side of her jaw, and the second she felt his kiss hit the curve of her neck, her body involuntarily lurched forward and an exquisite sounding sigh escaped from her lips.

"Does...that answer your...question...for you." She sputtered, trying to control her panting as Hotch brought his mouth back up to her ear.

"Just making sure."

She swore he was laughing. He was undoubtedly enjoying teasing the living shit out of her.

"Hotch..."

"Aaron." He corrected, and she was suddenly hyper-aware that his hands were in her hair, tugging gently.

She reached behind her head, smirking to herself when Hotch released a moan as her body position changed and pressed harder into him, and yanked the elastic band holding her measly ponytail back, freeing the tangled waves.

"There." She huffed, and his fingers immediately ran through her curls, his palms caressing the side of her face.

Butterflies exploded in Emily's stomach. It wasn't like she did bad in the sack, especially considering her hours, but it had genuinely been a long time since any of the people she'd slept with actually took the time to touch her, in the simplest, softest ways, and of all people, Hotch was the one to do so; the same man who had basically just admitted he'd been waiting months to get her in bed.

"Aaron."

"What." His lips were on her collarbone now, and she was losing control of the sounds that were climbing up her throat.

"Can I...?"

Emily's hands were knotted in the hem of his t-shirt, and she was already dragging the fabric up his torso when he took over for her and whipped it completely off. The shirt hit the ground with a gentle whump.

She didn't waste any time. Immediately, she ran her fingernails down the length of his abdomen, applying just enough pressure for him to feel it, and to her pleasure Hotch answered with a quick inhale.

He was caught completely off-guard now, and Emily decided it was time for her to take the upperhand.

Hotch had been waiting for this, right? He deserved something a little better than what she was giving him right now.

Emily used her legs to push off of the door, and before Hotch could catch his breath, she walked him backwards over to the edge of his bed. With her front pressed flush against his, she gave the slightest grind forward with her hips, and he was instantly pushed onto the mattress with a quick groan.

"Jesus..." Hotch whispered, and Emily didn't waste any time. She climbed up on top of her boss, her thighs spread over his lap so she was partially straddling him.

Without question, she had the upper hand.

Emily was relentless, and she didn't give the man a moment to catch his breath before capturing his lips in her teeth and dragging her nails over the bare skin of his back, causing his body to bend into hers. In spite of herself, she released a low moan that sounded more like a whimper when his crotch rubbed in between her legs, and Hotch didn't miss it either.

Once their lips broke apart, he took a hand to the small of her back; the other to a hip, and dragged her fully onto his lap, snickering when she repeated the sound she emitted previously. The full-on contact was fresh, even over clothing, and Emily had to bite into her lip to keep from making more noise when she started grinding her hips into his at a torturously slow speed.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're killing me right now." He growled, and Emily had to take a moment to process the fact that she'd finally heard Hotch drop a big time explicative.

His hands started to travel to the bottom of her slim-fitted tank, and Emily's heart picked up.

"Yes, please." She whined before Hotch could even open his mouth to ask if he could start to undress her. He smirked again, and lifted the tank up and over her head, revealing a sleek black sports bra.

"I'm sorry." She laughed, glancing down, not once interrupting the slow tempo of her hips. "Not exactly lingerie."

"I don't care."

Hotch's hands were immediately on her chest, and even over the fabric, the contact was enough to slow her rhythm to a speed where he could flip her over onto her back.

She closed her eyes and dug her hands into the wooly blanket on the top of his sheets as his long fingers slipped under the elastic clinging to he ribcage, stroking the curve of her breasts before prying the tight material off her body, sliding it over her head.

Emily let herself catch her breath as Hotch took his hands off her for a moment. She was extremely wound up, considering that they both still had their pants on, and there hadn't even been any touching below the hips yet.

"Holy shit, Emily. You're so damn perfect." She arched her back as his breath hit one of her naked breasts, clamping her mouth shut as another noise lept into her mouth.

This only caught Hotch's attention more, and she shivered as his husky laugh tickled her skin, giving her chills.

As soon as she felt a kiss press against the middle of her sternum, she knew that her attempts to keep quiet were going to go south very quickly. Hotch knew what he was doing.

She let out a low groan as his mouth covered one of her nipples, and another followed when the hand he wasn't using to keep her anchored in place slipped down onto her thigh.

"Gorgeous...?"

It took Emily a few beats to realize Hotch was using it as an endearment instead of a compliment. "Yeah?"

"This okay?"

Her breath hitched as his hands gripped the waistband of her pants, and she couldn't nod fast enough to reply.

The second the tepid room-temperature air hit her bare hips, she knew it was definitely too late to go back now.

And she was completely fine with that.

She felt a finger trace the outline of her lacy thong along her bikini line.

"Second tattoo?" He asked lazily, his intended destination somewhere a little more south.

"Mhmmm."

He was taking his goddamn time now. She heard the thump of his own pants hitting the hardwood floor, and the pool of heat in between her thighs became that much more unbearable.

"Tell me what it says." He teased. The lighting was definitely low, but the room wasn't dark by any means. He just wanted to hear her say it.

"Angel." She breathed, ignoring the embarrassment that flamed in her cheeks. Her lust was far more overpowering right now, and she was giving it her full attention.

"Why do you have that, sweetheart?"

God, his voice was doing things to her now.

"It's stupid." She half-fibbed, but there was no way in hell she was taking her time to explain her dumb little cursive tattoo's origin to the man she wanted on top of her (or to be on top of, she was down with either at this point).

He chuckled again, and Emily's body jerked when his palm pressed on the inside of one of her thighs.

"Aaron."

"I know, you're just so beautiful." It was his turn to moan dramatically when he dragged his fingers up the side of her thigh and over her burning center. "Christ, Emily."

Emily gasped and opened her legs wider as his pointer finger hooked underneath the cloth of her underwear with one swift movement. The moment he touched her bare core, his entire tempo changed and every bit of control that he'd been tempting her with only moments ago vanished.

His breathing was becoming heavy, lustful sighs as he rubbed his thumb over her clit, which turned into growling moans as Emily arched her body and threw her head back, tangling her hands in his hair. With a sloppy kiss to the inside of her left thigh, he slipped two fingers inside of her and palmed over her clit with an urgency that made her body coil even more, repeating the motion over and over until she was a total quivering mess in his hand.

Of course, he didn't let her go there. Emily almost cried out when; without warning, his tongue parted her slick folds and slowly circled her entrance before he completely took her into his mouth, expertly sucking and nipping her until she was biting the back of her (uninjured) hand to stifle a scream that had ripped from her diaphragm.

"Oh god, oh god, please." She gasped, desperately trying to keep her voice down. The walls here weren't incredibly thick, and she would be morbidly embarrassed if anyone in the neighboring rooms was listening right now.

After a mercilessly pleasurable period of time, Emily tugged Hotch's head up and covered his mouth with hers as he pushed his fingers back inside her and hitting her already sensitive g-spot, turning her moans into high-pitched whimpers. Fully turned on now, Emily pulled her lips away from Hotch and sensually stared into his eyes with a half-lidded gaze as she snaked her hand down to his boxers.

As soon as she touched him, Hotch lunged forward, taking over Emily's mouth with a severely passionate kiss that made her body tremble. She wanted him, now. Completely, fully. I didn't matter what the consequences were, she needed it.

After pushing him up onto his knees with a quick twist of her wrist, she skillfully ran a hand down his length before meeting his gaze.

She'd never seen Hotch look at ANYONE with that much intensity. Hell, she'd never had anyone look at her with such utter want before.

It got her hot all over again.

"Do you have a condom?" She whispered, as seductively as that question could be asked, not once letting go of him.

"Yes." He murmured, his mouth hanging open and breath coming in gasps as Emily picked up the pace a bit. She wasn't really surprised that he brought protection, even if she wasn't here, Hotch would have been prepared for literally every possible situation. And he definitely struck her as the man to never leave a lady unprotected.

"Why don't you go get it so you can fuck me."

"Jesus, you're killing me." He moaned, running his thumb roughly over her bottom lip. Emily raised an eyebrow as she gave him one last long stroke before letting go, ignoring the sticky liquid in her palm once he pulled away.

He moved fast, not letting more than a few seconds pass before he was back in bed, his arms pulling her body towards him. She took advantage of the situation and threw a leg over top of him, hovering over his length, winking at him as he groaned and ran a hand through her hair.

"I'm clean, and on the pill." She added, before, straightening up and lowering her hips, ever so slowly grinding down onto his naked body one last time.

Hotch was almost already losing it, his breathing coming in short, rapid-fire gasps, and the last thing he needed was Emily giving him a half serious lap-dance. He urgently gripped her hips, lifted up, and dragged her down on-top of him in one swift move, their instant cries of pleasure syncing together.

"Aaron?"

"Hmm." He almost purred, and Emily laughed, leaning down to his ear before moaning as he pushed fully inside of her.

"Make me come."


	13. History

**A/N:** I don't think I added this note to the story here but I definitely put it on the ao3 version: in my stories Emily is bisexual, no matter who I'm shipping her with. That headcanon is very important to me, and if you have a problem with it, it's not essential to the storyline but you might want to skip this chapter. Other than that, it's just fluff.

Also, thank you all for the positive feedback on this fic! I haven't written for Criminal Minds before, and I was unsure about posting it, but you all have made it worth my time!3

* * *

Hotch hadn't been able to sleep yet. It was almost 4:30 in the morning, and he knew full well that he'd be woken up in a few hours for the job, but in all honesty he didn't really mind right now.

Emily's slumbering frame was curled up against his, her head tucked neatly underneath his chin and her long, dark locks spread out over the stark cream colored sheets in every which direction. Her smooth, sculpted legs were tangled into his, keeping her arms tucked up against her chest. She'd fallen asleep almost instantly (well, once she and Hotch were able to be in the same vicinity without jumping each other at the first lull in conversation), and he almost felt guilty for keeping her up so late and taking her to the gym earlier when he was aware of just how exhausted she'd been.

Almost.

As much as he thought he would immediately regret what he'd done with Emily, several times, he didn't feel any of that. He was at peace in a way, there was a sensation that he hadn't experienced since Haley had left. Sure, he'd had a woman in his bed since then, but they were just one night stands, hit and runs, and the occasional cuddle afterwards until they both woke up and remembered they were complete strangers. Plus, it wasn't like he had a surplus of time on his hands to actually find a woman to date.

But with Emily, it was different. She was completely comfortable with him in a way that was almost unnatural for her, as if she fully trusted him to watch over her while she slept in his bed, vulnerable. And before tonight, he couldn't have ever imagined that the Emily Prentiss he knew would have that type of faith in anyone.

Her warm breath hit his neck, and a chill ran down his spine, re-alerting him to the fact that this was actually happening.

Hotch's lazy fingers trailed down her naked back, tracing the outline of the tattoo that he'd only seen previews of before. He hadn't really been able to have a good look once he'd gotten her shirt off, but in the dim light, he could make out the design just enough to marvel at its size and intricacy.

It was a bird, but definitely not the bird that'd he'd picture when he thought of Emily. The ink was only in black, and mostly just outlines, yet it still managed to dominate the majority of her back. The wings stretched out to her shoulder blades, and the wisps of the tail reached down to her lower back.

He'd been expecting something dainty, something pretty, and while the tattoo was undeniably gorgeous, it was almost daunting. The wings seemed to be tensed, and with each roll of her muscles when she readjusted, Hotch swore that it looked like the creature would burst right out of her skin and take flight.

He figured the bird to resemble a swan, and considering what he knew about those type of birds, he found it fitting for Emily. Elegant, breathtaking, but fierce and powerful.

He wondered if that's why she had chosen it.

If he was being rational, he realized that he should try to close his eyes and get some rest; that Emily obviously wasn't going anywhere for the time being with how close she kept herself to him, but he worried that the moment he drifted off, this would disappear, and he'd go back to sleeping alone again.

Emily sighed heavily, as if she was echoing his concerns and stretched out, sensually enough for Hotch to have to grab her arms and hold her in place so the serene, tranquil moment wouldn't become another round of (very enjoyable, albeit tiring) sex.

"Hotch." A half-asleep mumble came from the darkness.

"Hmm." He replied, trying to mimic the same sleep-drunk tone Emily emitted.

She stretched again, only this time a little more aware of her body, and lifted her face before propping her head up on one of her hands.

Hotch held in a deep breath. She looked so beautiful, so utterly spent, natural and flushed right next to him with her slender figure half-covered by the thin sheet as she pushed the hair away from her eyes. The minimal lighting hit her perfectly, and he could see the shimmering coal-black gaze staring up at him beneath lengthy lashes.

"What are you doing up?" He asked once she hadn't responded for a bit, running the back of his hand gently across her cheek, smiling when she leaned into the touch.

"I don't know." She groaned, "I'm so tired."

"Go back to sleep."

"What time is it?"

"Early. You still have time to rest."

Hotch was partially surprised that she wasn't weirded out, or that she hadn't bolted back to her own side of the room since she was up, but the way she closed her eyes and exhaled as he stroked her face told him that she had no plans to move anytime soon.

"Are you okay that you fell asleep here?"

What he really meant was 'are you okay that you fell asleep naked in my bed all over me after we went at it for almost two hours?'

"Yeah, it would be kind of...counterproductive to distance myself more now."

He couldn't help but chuckle. Her words were so drawn out and slurred, she had no idea what she was saying.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded slowly, pulling herself up to his face and flopping back down, their mouths only inches apart again. "Positive."

He found himself taking her hand into his and caressing her fingers, something that seemed almost more intimate than what had happened earlier.

"So, not a mistake?" He asked, feeling silly the moment the thought formed and pushed itself out of his mouth. Emily smiled and bit her bottom lip, a gesture that tied Hotch's stomach in knots.

"No, not a mistake. Not at all."

She seemed to read his mind, and anticipated his next question. "It's not like we're back at work, here you're not my boss, and it doesn't even matter. No one is going to report us, hell, no one knows."

A cheeky smirk spread on his face. "Well, hopefully no one here knows, but I'm not sure that's true anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't exactly quiet, Emily."

Emily was suddenly very awake and attempted to cover his mouth with her free palm to hide the mocking grin that Hotch was trying and failing to conceal.

"Stop, you weren't either!"

He snickered before cupping the side of her blushing face with his hand. "I'm messing with you."

"And I'm going to kill you."

He snorted at Emily's goofy grin that she was having trouble controlling and wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers going back to the tip of her spine. She shivered and locked eyes with him.

"I was looking at your tattoo."

"And? Too rebellious for your traditional eyes?" She joked, rolling her shoulders when his fingers traced upwards.

"It's beautiful. I expected something else, to be honest."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something..."

"Less intimidating?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

She shrugged. "I like it, even now. It's not as embarrassing as other body modifications I've accumulated over the years."

His mind flashed back to the airport when she'd reluctantly admitted that she had several piercings under her clothes after being stopped by security. He hadn't seen anything earlier in the night, and he had taken his damn time admiring her. She must have taken everything out as soon as they'd arrived here.

"You can't just not tell me." He grinned, tugging on the ends of her hair lightly.

"Can't you just use your imagination?" She sighed.

"I feel like that might be worse."

"You'll live."

He rolled his eyes. "So stubborn."

"You already saw my other tattoo, which is enough for tonight, I promise."

"I was wondering about that."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Of course you were."

"You don't have to tell me, Emily. I was joking before."

"It's not really that big of a deal, it's just like...something that I definitely regret getting now because out of context it seems really, really weird."

He readjusted his hand to the side of Emily's neck, his thumb pressing against the edge of her jawline. He was almost embarrassed about the fact that he physically could not stop touching her, but she wasn't shying away or shoving him off, and he fully trusted that Emily would let him know if he was pushing any boundaries.

She sighed and locked her jaw, before looking into his eyes and pursing her lips.

"Angel is the name of, um, my first girlfriend."

She paused, running her tongue over her bottom lip, waiting for Hotch to react like she'd expected him to. He didn't, he just allowed a little bit of surprise to register on his face before nonchalantly nodding.

"We were both living in Rome when my mom was stationed there, and at first I just got involved with her to piss my mom off, but it got really serious. I'd had a boyfriend before, but he was an absolute asshole and Angel actually cared about me."

"What happened?" Hotch asked softly.

"Once my mother found out, she basically had a conniption and said that no self-respecting daughter of hers would be caught in such a scandal like that when we were already in the public eye. I just ignored her, and saw Angel whenever I could, when I wasn't in school or in dance class or any of the other million things my mother decided would be good for me. We were really serious about things, which looking back, probably was a mistake for how young I was, but we knew my mother would be re-stationed soon, and we wanted to remember each other because we swore we were soulmates."

Emily laughed, and Hotch felt himself smiling along with her. She was embarrassed obviously, he doubted that she'd ever planned on telling her boss any of this, but there was a happiness behind her flushed cheeks. She might be embarrassed, but she wasn't ashamed.

"So, we went to this sketchy tattooist who didn't ID and we got each other's names tattooed onto us, like idiotic teenagers, and of course it had to be somewhere that my mother would never see, and the location was just risque enough to be sexy so it all worked out. My mother was stationed a few months later, and I haven't talked to Angel since then, but I never got anything over the tattoo."

"Why not?"

"This sounds so cliche, but it reminds me of being free of my mother. It was something she couldn't ruin, no matter how much she hated Angel, and it helps me remember that it wasn't weird, it was normal."

Hotch smiled, and stroked his thumb over her jaw. "You didn't have to tell me that."

"I know, but you didn't freak out, or give me any of the reactions that my other boyfriends have over the years, so I figured, hey, if you've seen it, you should know about it."

"You shouldn't be embarrassed."

She shrugged. "I know. It's just not something that I'm comfortable being open about. The only other member of the team I've told was JJ, and that's only because she saw it when I was changing one time."

Hotch looked down at Emily, whose pink cheeks were warm to his touch and heavy lids were beginning to close again. He was genuinely curious now, and while he didn't want to push and prod, the way she talked about her experiences was almost hypnotizing.

"Are you...I mean are you still..." He stumbled over his words, and grinned when he saw Emily roll her eyes.

"Bisexual? You can say it, you're not offending me."

"I didn't want to assume."

"Hotch, I just told you something personal because I wanted to, you can ask me whatever. But to answer your question, yeah, I guess so. It's never been like a perfect ratio of men and women, but it's never gone away and I doubt it ever will, which used to devastate me, but I've grown into it, I think."

He brushed more hair back, and pulled her body closer to his. "You know, you're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met."

She laughed. "What do you mean?"

"You just amaze me, Emily. You look at everything so differently than I do, and I envy your unwavering dignity and passion. I've been trying to put my thumb on what word describes you since you walked into my office a year ago, and I could never grasp one that seemed to perfectly summarize you because you are constantly surprising me. I still can't."

Emily twisted her lips and blinked, shaking her head. "Why are you always trying to make me cry?"

Hotch snorted, and pulled Emily into his arms. "You're just sensitive."

Emily chuckled at the joke, but he could tell that she'd been serious as soon as he felt a tear hit his chest and roll down his abdomen. He debated whether or not to address it, or let her be, but as soon as he heard her sniff he lifted her face away from his neck and pressed a soft, careful kiss against her lips.

It barely took Emily a beat to respond, and in a moment they were intertwined again, focusing only on each other. It wasn't like the kiss in the gym; the sloppy, hungry, lustful kiss that Hotch still ached for, but instead something real. Something that made him think twice about which side of Emily he'd just slept with.

Once he pulled away, he met her gaze with his and threaded his fingers back into her hand. "We should try to sleep."

She nodded, wiping a tear off her cheek that had managed to slip out. "Can I stay here?"

"Did you think I had any intention of letting you leave?"

She guffawed and cuddled up next to him, pulling the sheets over her body completely. "Good. I like hogging your covers."

Hotch smiled, and within an instant, he felt his own body suddenly being taken over by fatigue. It was almost impossible for him to keep his eyes open now, and Emily noticed, too.

He faded out, falling asleep to the soft murmuring of her voice; telling him to rest, and the gentle movement of her fingers playing with his hair.

...


	14. People Like You

"You're walking a little funny, Prentiss, did you hurt yourself?"

Emily really wished she wasn't having this conversation with Royce right now. At first, when he'd asked, she was sure he knew what she and Hotch had done last night, but he was actually being genuinely curious, and she thought that might be worse.

She was sore, a combination of the boxing and the fucking, but she didn't think it would be noticeable until she was outside, jogging over to where the rest of her team stood, assembled around two tanks. She'd been very late to wake up this morning, mostly because Hotch decided to let her sleep in a bit, which ended up turning into an extra half-hour that caused her frantic scramble to catch up.

Royce had informed them early this morning that they'd finally had a hit, that the Iraqi police contacts held up and produced an ID for the victim that was found in the store the first night. His name was Alaz Roj, and all that anyone knew so far was that he was a Kurd, and better yet, he had family who was still alive, and only about three outside of Baghdad. They were headed there today, and with their fingers crossed, they hoped that they'd be able to interview the spouse.

At the moment, Royce was assisting her with her portion of their excessive Kevlar, and Hotch and Doc leaned against the tank, waiting for her reply with raised eyebrows. She doubted that Hotch had uttered a word to Doc, but the look on his face told her that he was far from oblivious to the situation. And she was having trouble keeping her annoyance dormant.

"No, I'm fine." She replied, faux friendliness dripping in her tone.

"Just sore?" He pushed as he helped readjust the bulky vest on her tiny frame, and she swore Doc snorted.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"We haven't even been in the field the past few days, how could you be sore?" Doc teased, and Hotch bit the inside of his cheek and turned his gaze away nonchalantly.

Emily was so, so glad that Rivers was out of earshot right now, and she just prayed that Royce was ignoring what Doc was hinting.

"I went to the gym, Doc. Is that okay with you?"

He smiled sweetly. "Oh is that right?"

"Yeah," she nodded, feeling Royce let go of her vest, and she walked up to Doc, smirking as casually as she could, "someone has to be the muscle around here."

He stood up straight, towering over Emily, "You think you're the muscle, little girl?"

"You're only like, almost a foot taller than me." She joked, and Doc laughed his deep chortle, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Hotch smiled, giving Emily a quick look, letting her know that Doc was definitely not about to drop the subject.

"Yeah, and I have about 100 pounds on you, too, so watch it."

"I don't know, Doc, I think Emily could take you out." Hotch finally piped up, leading the way into the tank that Doc was driving, while Rivers and Royce entered the second.

"You might be right, something tells me Prentiss doesn't like to be dominated."

"Okay, that inneundo wasn't subtle at all." She replied, ignoring the slight blush, and Hotch sucked in his cheeks and became very focused on something outside of the tank.

"I'm about as subtle as a gun, which is something all three of us seem to have in common." Doc said, the smirk on his face only growing when Emily settled between the two men with a hiss as she rotated her hips too quickly.

He chuckled, hitting the switches and buttons and pulling the hatch closed, as the tank roared to life. Emily was always curious as to how the tanks worked without keys, but what she was more curious about was why there was hardly any goddamn airflow in these hellish vehicles, or why there was absolutely no personal space; considering she was almost in Hotch's lap, and Doc was practically in hers.

Emily'd noticed last time she'd been in a tank with Hotch how he immediately tensed up as soon as they started driving, and she considered it must be due to the fact that the ride was especially bumpy, but she was sensing that he was nervous about being in here if something were to happen.

"Why are there no radios in these things?" She broke the silence, and earned a smile from both Hotch and Doc.

"We have a radio." Doc answered sarcastically, tugging on the CB radio look-alike attached to the dashboard.

"I meant music."

"I can sing for you."

Emily burst out laughing. "Pre-game music? For an interview?"

"Yeah, of course, girl. I'm sure Hotchner would join me."

"You must not know me well enough yet, I don't sing." He grinned back.

"Trust me, the meanest looking army boys used to join me in sing-a-longs while we used to ride for miles in these things."

"You've been stationed for a mission before?" Emily asked, smiling when she heard Hotch form the same question right after she opened her mouth.

"A few years back, same base. We were taking down a terrorist cell that was supposedly responsible for 9/11, but it ended up just being a lot of dead ends," he sighed, and Emily felt Hotch trap the tips of her ponytail in his fingertips when it swung into his face for the fourth time.

"How long were you here for?" He asked, twirling the tendrils gently, out of Doc's line of vision, just soothing enough for Emily to relax into her seat a bit more.

"About six months. It was hell, for sure, but I had some fun. The boys were cool, and we'd also go to these great underground clubs for all the war journalists and photographers and any of the military officers who were lucky enough to get away for a night."

"Clubs? Like, bars?" Emily said, suddenly realizing how much she longed for girls' nights in the sleazy DC bars with JJ and Garcia.

"Yeah, hell of a time there, I'll make sure Royce takes us before this all ends."

Emily nodded, meeting Hotch's eyes as she looked around the inside of the tank. He gave her another eyebrow raise, and despite herself, she replied with a toothy grin behind the back of her hand. She was starting to embarrass herself with this puppy-love behavior.

The remainder of the drive went quicker than she'd expected, mostly because Doc had finally persuaded her enough to start chanting the words to 'We Will Rock You' just to annoy Hotch. Every time either of them forgot the words, they'd just restart, and Hotch would only laugh, roll his eyes, and then groan once more, knowing full well that Doc was now just fueling Emily's fire.

Finally, Doc slowed the vehicle, stopping it right behind where Royce and Rivers had hopped out of theirs. The trio exited the tank; Hotch steading Emily as she jumped down, landing with a low growl when her already sore muscles were only more irritated.

"Agent Prentiss, I should have mentioned this before we left," Royce said once Emily and Hotch were close enough, "we're a little ways from Baghdad, and this area is, a little more traditional in it's clothing."

"Most women wear hijabs or al-amiras." Emily concluded, looking around the rural town. There was much less American military presence here, and Emily could already see she was getting some wary looks.

"Yes, it's still a very modern area, so I doubt you'll have much trouble, but you might want to prepare for some staring."

Emily shrugged. She was wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt, with enough Kevlar to stop a moving train, so in general she was pretty well covered. When she'd lived Khobar, she'd seen her mother don a headscarf a few times out of respect, so she wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea, but she was relieved that she hadn't been forced to wear anything extra, considering the temperature was already sweltering.

"Their address is only a few streets down, we should go now to make the most out of our time." Royce said after a long pause, and he motioned for the rest of the team to follow his lead. Emily fell in line behind Rivers and Doc, with Hotch bringing up the rear. She glanced down at the M4's that Rivers and Royce were carrying, and suddenly her Glock resting against her hip felt a lot less powerful.

She noticed the glances of the townspeople who were out on the street, some looked longer than others, but none were phased by the sight of American men (and well, an American woman, in Emily's case) walking the streets with assault rifles.

The thought of this being normalized made Emily's heart hurt, especially when she saw several young boys pause their soccer game to seize up the situation for about a minute, before turning their backs to the weapons and resuming their fun.

This was everyone's life.

The image of Alaz's dead body flashed in her mind for some reason, and she felt sick.

It was a good thing that Royce signaled to a small cottage on his left, identifying it as the Roj household, because Emily could not wait to be inside so she could stop experiencing this gut-wrenching discomfort that she realized wasn't even hers to feel.

Royce and Rivers immediately loosened their grip on the guns once Royce knocked on the door. Alaz's wife knew they were coming, she'd been alerted by the police, but that didn't mean she'd be welcoming in the slightest, and the last thing she needed was to see two huge, hulking white men with massive guns come into her house.

Once the rapping on the door ceases, Emily found herself holding her breath until the sound of a lock sliding out of place echoed from inside the house, and the door opened just a crack.

"Ma'am, my name is James Royce, I'm here from the American Central Intelligence Agency with my teammates, and we want to ask you a few questions about your husband, if that's alright of course."

The woman, who was veiled in the shadows, said nothing, and Emily waited for the door to be slammed in their face like it so often was at home. The woman was obviously uncomfortable, and her dark eyes darted between the men who stood in front of her.

Finally, she opened her mouth and mewled out, "I don't understand you," in very fluent Kurdish.

She didn't speak a lick of English, Emily assumed, which wasn't necessarily uncommon, especially since they were away from a metropolis area.

She felt a hand on her back as Royce immediately guided her to the front of the group, in plain sight of the woman. Emily inhaled anxiously, she was much more confident about her Arabic and Farsi than she was with Kurdish, but she knew she could maneuver a conversation with her.

The second Emily was placed in the woman's sight, she visibly relaxed and opened the door just a bit more.

Maybe it was the lack of a semi-automatic rifle, or maybe it was because she wasn't a man, but the only became more relieved when Emily opened her mouth and English didn't come out.

"Ma'am, I'm Special Agent Emily Prentiss; we're from the United States Armed Forces and Intelligence Agencies, and we would like to talk to you about your husband, Alaz Roj. The policemen told us that you knew we would come see you."

Emily winced, fearing she'd stumbled over her pronunciation at first, but the admiring look that Royce was giving her said otherwise. Roj's wife finally nodded, but beckoned for Emily to come closer so she could whisper.

"You can come in, but those guns scare me, and they'll scare my children."

Emily wondered if the woman was aware that she could have said that at normal volume and no one else would have understood, but she just tipped her head in acknowledgement and turned towards Royce and the others, switching back to English.

"She doesn't want the guns in the house, so I think it would be best to leave two of us out here with them, and two of you can come in with me," she paused, biting her lip, "I think I need Hotch to come in with me though, my Kurdish is rusty and I don't want to miss anything behavioral while I'm trying to form sentences."

Royce passed a look with Hotch, and then simply slid the gun off his shoulder and passed it to Doc, who gave his boss a knowing nod before joining Rivers and giving the woman some space.

Emily faced the Roj woman again, preparing the foreign words in her throat before she opened her mouth. "Ma'am, I'm going to bring in my commanding officer Agent James Royce, and my teammate Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. They're just going to make sure I'm okay while we talk, okay?"

She watched the woman size up the men on either side of the doorframe, and then almost smiled when she opened the door wide enough for passage, and waved the three of them inside.

Emily lead the way, completely comfortable with taking point on this. She took in her surroundings. A dog-eared copy of the Quran lay on a small wooden table, and Emily debated asking if the woman could speak Arabic if she read the Quran, but she assumed she was more comfortable with Kurdish, and Emily had no right to ask for an easier translation for her own comfort when they were already taking so much from this woman.

Photographs of a beautiful family of four peppered the common room, and she allowed herself to study the faces quickly while the woman disappeared into the back area for a brief moment.

Alaz was featured in these, but his face looked nothing like the pale, ragged corpse she'd seen before. He was tall and thin, with a youthful smile and a thick mass of dark hair covering his head. Next to him, the Roj wife stood, her eyes glinting in the sun and an upturned grin painted on her face, the rest of her frame adorned with a pretty but simple hijab. By their sides, two girls hovered. One was wearing a similar hijab; like her mother's, and Emily knew she must be a teenager. The younger daughter was clothed only in a modest dress, her black hair tumbling around her shoulders. She hadn't yet been required to cover, since she had not hit puberty, and she stood out next to her mother and sister.

"Beautiful family." Royce muttered, next to Emily. He was trying to find a place to stand watch, where he wouldn't be much of a disruption, and he settled with Hotch near an old rocking chair.

Emily hummed in agreement, turning her head when she heard a childlike voice sound from the back of the house. Raj's wife reappeared, a hijab wrapped around her head; the younger girl wrapped up in her arms, and the covered older one trailing not far behind. As soon as they laid eyes on the agents, a tension seemed to slip into the air.

If Raj's wife noticed it, she ignored it. She beckoned for Emily to take a seat on one of the cushions that were scattered around the floor, and she took a seat on the other.

"Tell your men that they should sit on the couch if they please." She said, freeing herself from her daughters vice grip.

Emily half-grinned, understanding that the men would require the best seating in the house.

"Hotch, Royce, she requested that you sit on her couch, it would make her more comfortable."

The men passed a small glance before following Emily's instructions, settling into the soft fabric of the sofa. The woman visibly relaxed, and Emily folded her hands in her lap before leaning forward.

"Ma'am, do you mind telling me your first name?"

"Of course, my name is Gilya, and my daughters are Delal and Seyran." She patted the head of the smaller one first, and then the teenager, who still was watching Emily with a cold, unwavering glare.

"Those are very pretty names." Emily said, mostly talking to Delal and Seyran. Delal giggled slightly, and Emily estimated that she was no older than five years old. Seyran stayed silent, but thanked Emily with a chastised nod.

"I've been trying to keep things calm around here, and they know what happened to Alaz, but I never said anything about the specifics, mostly just because we're all so scared."

Emily was suddenly taken aback when Gilya switched over to Arabic without warning, and Emily cocked her head, until she realized that Delal and Seyran hadn't reacted to her statement at all.

"Do your daughters only speak Kurdish?" Emily asked in Arabic.

Gilya nodded. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer you speak Arabic when talking about some of the dark details, please. I want to keep them safe."

Emily nodded, and a warmth blossomed in her stomach. Gilya was a good mother, one who was doing everything possible to keep her children shielded, no matter how much she was suffering. Plus, Emily was much more comfortable speaking Arabic, since she'd been using it since the ripe age of 11.

However, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Gilya's admittance of fear.

"What are you afraid of?"

Gilya swallowed, and glanced over at Hotch and Royce, who were attentively paying attention, even if they didn't understand what was being said. She was obviously nervous about their presence, and Emily sighed and, against her better judgement, reached out and rested her hand against Gilya's.

Gilya instantly brought her scrutiny back to Emily, but she didn't pull away from the contact. Emily decided this was a good thing.

"Azizty, talk to me. Not them." She used the term of endearment that she'd heard often in Khobar and Cairo, despite Gilya's years on her, and it seemed to work, because the older woman's focus slowly returned to her.

She gave Emily a once-over. "Are you an Arab?"

"No, not at all, but I did live in Cairo and Khobar when I was a girl, that's how I know how to speak," she paused to lick her lips, "what are you afraid of, Gilya?"

Before the woman could open her mouth to answer, Emily sensed that something...well, someone, was playing with her ponytail behind her back. Half expecting it to be Hotch, she turned around and saw Delal lingering over her, an angelic smile plastered on her chubby cheeks.

"Delal!" Gilya hissed, and Emily almost laughed at how much her reprimanding tone reminded her of her own mother's.

"She's fine." She said, before rotating in Delal's direction and switching back to Kurdish. "You like my hair?"

The little girl giggled again and wrapped a tiny hand around one wavy strand of brunette hair.

"Do you want to play with it?" She asked, grinning when Delal nodded enthusiastically. Emily didn't hesitate, she expertly yanked the band out, releasing the heap of hair that clung to the perspiration on the nape of her neck.

Hotch's smile caught her eye. He was looking at her with an admiration that she hadn't seen on him before, and it almost made her blush.

If she hadn't been here interviewing a widow about her dead husband.

Emily returned her attention to Gilya, who was watching her daughter move around the agent like a hawk. It was apparent that she still didn't fully trust Emily, and was uneasy about Delal being so close to this American.

"Gilya," Emily murmured, barely resisting the urge to scrunch her shoulders up to her neck and giggle when tiny fingers tickled her neck with the tips of her hair, "why are you so afraid of us?"

She half expected the woman to respond with something about their country bombing the everloving hell out of hers, but Gilya shook her head, cautiously sending Hotch and Royce another glance before waving Emily closer.

Emily's brow furrowed, but she followed instructions, scooting closer. Delal heeled behind, beginning to twist Emily's dark hair into three even sections for a messy braid.

She almost drew back in surprise when Gilya pressed her lips against Emily's ear and cupped her mouth with her hand, shielding her words from Hotch and Royce. There was no point, neither of the men could understand Arabic, but Gilya wasn't certain of that, and she'd already exhibited her distrust of Emily.

Emily herself felt like she was back in middle school, exchanging secrets with her friends behind teachers' backs.

But this was no school-girl gossip, because the second Gilya started to whisper, Emily's stomach dropped.

"Because people like you, people like your team...they did this to my Alaz. And they meant to."


	15. Night Watch

Emily could tell how impatient Royce and Hotch were, but right now she didn't particularly give a shit. She could practically feel the irritation radiating off of their tense bodies, as they sat on the edge of the couch while Gilya stayed quiet, with her hands folded in her lap, undoubtedly waiting for the agents to say that their interview was over.

She'd whispered the rest of her story to the younger woman, and now it was Emily's turn to be stunned into silence. She was covering her lips with the back of her hand, desperately trying to keep her emotional response to what Gilya had said in check before she exploded. Delal was still near her, and she didn't want to startle the girl. Seyran sat poised next to her mother, running a comforting hand along Gilya's arm. It didn't matter if Seyran could understand what Gilya'd said, she knew that it was bad solely because of her mother's body language.

Emily inhaled deeply, opened her mouth as if to say something, but then shook her head when nothing came out.

She didn't know if she could believe Gilya's story, but the woman had 0 motivation to lie. She and her husband hadn't been involved in any suspicious activity; hell, Alaz had worked as a tailor before his disappearance and death, and the way that his wife's body was still trembling after sharing what had happened, Emily was sure that she'd get slapped in the face if she so much as questioned the validity of the story.

"Prentiss, what's going on?" Royce was the first to assert himself, his tone clipped. If they weren't in the presence of this family, Emily was sure Royce would be laying into her with an incredible amount of intensity.

But she was glad he wasn't being aggressive, because if he so much as raised his voice, Emily would have lost her already thin temper in an instant. There was no respectful way to go about this, but she really didn't want to question her new boss in front of a practically material witness.

She stood, alerting Gilya that it was time for her to take her daughters into a different room while she consulted. The Kurdish woman didn't hesitate for a second; almost ripping Gelal away from Emily as the little girl whined when the attempted braid fell out of her model's hair as soon as she was taken away. Seyran stared the whole time she was lead back into the back room, and for some reason Emily was slightly thrown by this.

Once the family was out of earshot, Emily turned back to Royce, who had risen off of the couch and was standing in her personal space; no doubt trying to remind her of her rank. She refused to let her eyes shift over to Hotch, because if he saw just how angry she looked, he'd make her stop before she said anything.

"Tell me what is happening, Agent. Right now."

She bit her tongue, advising herself to question before she accused her commanding officer of something abhorrent.

"Sir," she started, and Hotch raised a brow in warning in the corner of her vision, but she ignored it. "Do you have any idea as to why members of the United States Military would lead Alaz Roj to his death?"

Now Hotch was on his feet too. Emily half-expected him to reprimand her, but he was more wary of Royce, whose expression had changed from annoyance to disbelief in a split second.

"Why would you ever make such an odious accusation, Agent Prentiss?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, her heart beating faster when his words were basically being spat out, forcing herself not to shrink away from the brawny man who was staring her down.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her voice before looking into virescent gaze. "Sir, I'm not going to repeat myself."

"Emily." Hotch's warning turned vocal, but she just steeled her glare and raised her chin.

She nearly thought that Royce was going to take her by the throat wring the absolute life out of her, but instead he reached out and took both of her shoulders in his hands and gave her a slight shake, as if that was the maximum amount of physical force he'd ever use on her.

"Explain, now."

She swallowed. "Gilya says that the day her husband went missing, a group of five men and one woman came up to their door, dressed in what she describes as 'American military attire'. She says that they requested to speak to Alaz, and she gave them privacy, but once she came back to offer the group tea, no one was here anymore. She went looking for him, calling the police, but they wrote her off."

Royce's brow furrowed, and he released Emily's shoulders before giving her an incredulous look. "I don't..."

"Do you know anything about something like that going on?"

"No, there's no way in hell she's telling the truth, or maybe she's mistaken. The closest base is ours, and no one has interacted with this area besides regular patrol, and you are the ONLY woman on that base."

"Imagine my shock when she said that." She couldn't help but add the shrewd comment, but Royce made no attempt to engage.

"It must have been infidels in disguise, sometimes that happens..." He trailed off as Emily jumped in.

"Gilya says they were white. The woman was blond."

"Is there any way Alaz could have been a person of interest, and another group was instructed to make contact with him?" Hotch asked, trying to take some of Royce's heat off of Emily.

"He was a tailor, Hotch. They flew way under the radar."

"There's no way," Royce muttered, shaking his head. "I can't believe that for a second."

"Listen, I wish she could tell you in English, but she can't. This woman switched languages when talking to me because she didn't want her children to know that the people who are supposed to be keeping them safe from domestic terrorism murdered their father."

"Don't." Royce said, holding a finger in front of Emily's mouth. "You say that anywhere near other troops, hell, even Rivers, you'd be asking for the ass-kicking of your damn life."

"I'm not making this up, sir," she paused, realizing her temper was ebbing, "I'm sorry how strong I came on, but I'm not lying. You brought Hotch and I here to read people's behavior, and that woman seems as serious as a heart attack."

She sighed exasperatedly when Royce grit his teeth.

"Hotch, I know you didn't understand what she was saying, but you were watching her body language, you know she wasn't lying. Please help me."

Hotch looked deep into Emily's eyes, holding her watery gaze for a few seconds before blowing air out of his nose.

"Agent Prentiss is right, sir. She didn't express any of the tells that would have given me a red flag, and the fact that she felt so unsafe that she had to whisper to Emily even though she knew we couldn't translate makes it more obvious."

"Thank you." She replied softly, silently apologizing for dragging him into it. He responded with a small dip of his head, and Emily turned back to Royce.

He sighed, running a hand over his receding hair line. "Did she give descriptions?"

"Um, she said most of the men were tall, brunette, she didn't see their faces very clearly. She focused on the woman because she seemed so out of place."

"Okay, then give me that."

"She said the woman was a little bit older than I am, she estimated around Hotch's age, and she was shorter than me, with her hair pulled back into a bun. Gilya said she got close enough to see the woman's eyes, and they were very blue. She also said the woman was standing in front of the men."

Royce shook his head, but as he was about to open his mouth, he stared past Emily's shoulder. She followed his line of sight, and say Seyran standing in the corner of the room, having padded silently in during the conversation.

"Seyran?" Emily said warmly in Kurdish. "What's wrong?"

The girl shifted uncomfortably, her dark eyes darting between Hotch and Royce, until she finally assumed she could trust them. She stepped forward, closing the space between her and Emily.

"Please believe my mother." Seyran said in broken Arabic, and Emily felt heat rise to her cheeks. It was apparent that Seyran didn't know much Arabic, not enough for her mother to know, but enough for her to comprehend what had gone on during the interview.

"I do." Emily answered, watching Seyran's eyes shift over to the men again. "Hey, they're friendly, they're with me, and they can't understand us at all, if that helps."

The teenager smiled slightly, before glancing over her shoulder. "My mother would be so furious if she knew I was talking to you, she's giving Delal a meal, so I don't have much time, but you have to believe her. I saw them, the people who came. But I know something else."

Emily leaned in closer, softly taking the shaking girl's hand in her own. "You need to tell me, I promise nothing bad will happen."

Seyran ran her tongue over her tanned bottom lip, before meeting Emily's compassionate stare. "When my mother went to get the people tea, I heard them talking to my father about...money. I don't understand why, but he was listening, and he seemed like he was interested in what was being said."

Emily squinted, confusing scrambling her mind. She finally nodded, patting Seyran's arm. "Thank you, you're very brave."

The girl's eyes clouded over. "I'm so scared. They killed him didn't they? Why would anyone do that?"

A hot searing pain bubbled in Emily's chest, and she ground her teeth together to keep from letting her eyes tear up. "I don't know, but we're going to find out why. Are you worried something will happen to you?"

After a beat, Seyran nodded, and Emily's heart shattered. "And my mother, and my sister. I'm so scared, they took my father." Her voice broke, tiny sobs escaping from her mouth as Emily glanced over to Royce and Hotch, her own eyes starting to fill in spite of herself.

"We need to protect them." She said in English. "Somehow, we have to."

"Prentiss..." Royce started, but the sheer heartbreak on Emily's face made him falter, and his expression soon matched the one Hotch was wearing.

"Something heinous is happening, and they know. We can't leave them like this."

Royce sighed, before nodding. "I'll figure something out for tonight, and we'll go from there."

...

Part of her felt pathetic for experiencing the emotions she was right now, but in truth, Emily was dying to be back with Hotch.

Royce had delivered, as promised, and he rallied Rivers and Doc to stay overnight with the rest of them, watching the neighborhood in shifts. Several troops on patrol agreed to keep an eye out for suspicious activity near the Roj house, but Emily was still uneasy with the descriptions that Gilya gave, so she was watching the soldiers like a hawk.

Considering it was her idea, Royce had assigned her the first, and longest guard shift, and when he handed her the M4 that she swore might weigh as much as half her body, it was surprisingly light. Which actually scared her more.

"You know how to shoot that, Princess?" Doc had teased, and Emily's chest squeezed with the use of Derek's nickname for her. She had nodded, making some dumb joke, but she'd seen the same concern on Hotch's face when she released the safety on the weapon.

"If something happens and you need to move fast, drop the rifle and use your handgun." Royce had instructed, and her stomach churned at the thought of having to make a fast break away from something.

Royce had stuck Rivers with her, knowing the ex-Marine was used to long stakeouts. They'd engaged in simple small-talk for a bit, but soon ran out of things to discuss, and the only sound filling the space between them was chatter on the other end of her earpiece from the trio on the rooftop.

Royce, Doc, and Hotch were posted up on the top of a nearby complex, using night binoculars to watch the house from the air, but Emily knew they were mostly monitoring her and Rivers, because god knows there was a huge target on their backs; standing in the middle of a road with machine guns and Kevlar that wouldn't stop a bomb, or a very talented shooter, from tearing them apart.

Emily could almost feel Hotch's eyes on her from the great distance away, and a chill ran down her spine as a cool breeze began to blow. She was getting cold, and she yearned to be cuddled up underneath the wooly blankets on her-well, Hotch's bed, if she was being honest. Emily really wasn't sure when she started craving her bed here rather than her queen-sized one in DC, but she had to admit, it was a little concerning.

She longed for the sensation she woke up with last night, pressed up against Hotch, completely content. She doubted she'd been getting the same thing tonight, they'd been out here since they'd let Gilya know what was going on, and that had been hours ago. Doc and Hotch were supposed to swap out soon, but Emily had a feeling that Royce would keep her and Rivers out a bit longer.

Emily's eyes were beginning to close thanks to a silence on the other end of the line too, and she wondered how much shit she'd be in if she passed out during a stakeout. Probably a lot.

She willed herself awake by jiggling her legs. It had been her idea for this anyways, and she owed the Roj family her alertness.

"You getting tired?" Rivers asked, his grizzly voice breaking the quiet streak.

"Just from standing in the same place." She replied, keeping her voice strong, aware that Hotch could, and would detect her exhaustion through an earpiece.

"Walk up and down the street, it'll get some blood flowing to your legs."

Emily tipped her head. "Okay, thanks."

Following the advice, she started away from where Rivers was rooted in the same spot they'd been standing in all night. Her eyes scanned the horizon, looking for any new changes in the surrounding area. There was a distant sound of jets and choppers, no doubt near an active war zone, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Don't go too far, Prentiss." Royce's voice crackled in her ear.

"Yes sir." She said mechanically, pivoting her boots back towards Rivers, talking nice slow steps.

A good massive chunk of her time was spent pacing those 200 yards back and forth, listening to the occasional banter between Hotch and Doc, laughing along until Rivers interrupted.

"I've been hearing those jets for almost thirty minutes, and they sound like they're getting closer."

Emily shot a glance to her partner. Rivers' eyes were scanning the night sky, and every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to spring. Fear rose in her throat, if he was worried, she should be too.

"Yeah, I hear it too." Hotch.

"Okay, just keep your eyes peeled." Royce.

The next twenty minutes were some of the longest of Emily's life. She could hear the blare of jets now, but there was no way of telling where they were coming from, and if they were friendly, or from rebel Iraqi forces.

Or, Emily thought, the rogue group that killed Alaz.

The stone cold tension was broken as a scream ripped through the night. Emily and Rivers whirled around in the direction of the cry, and Rivers barely had time to tackle Emily to the ground before an aerial bomb slammed into the ground right outside the town's borders.

...

When Emily came to, her ears were ringing with a ferocity that she'd never experienced before. It was millions of times worse than the EID, and it took her a moment to realize why.

They were caught in a storm of hailing artillery. She managed to open her eyes wide enough to watch a building about a mile away exploded after a whistling rocket smashed into it at full speed.

Fire danced across the houses, and shrieks filled the night. Her heart was in her mouth, remembering all the of the screams in the streets of Baghdad days ago.

The bodies...the gore...the death...she couldn't do that again.

"Emily! Bruce! Sound off!"

She finally registered Royce's voice screaming into her earpiece, and with a quick shake of her aching head, she yelled back.

"I'm here, Rivers is next to me, is everyone okay?"

Was Hotch okay?

"Yes, we're off the roof taking shelter. Stay down, it'll be over soon."

"Why do we keep getting blown up!" She screamed, biting her lip when no one responded back to her. They didn't know.

It was pretty obvious that they were becoming targets, or they just continued to have the shittiest fucking luck.

Emily looked around frantically, seeing Rivers reload his gun before firing at the engine of a low-hanging jet. He missed, but the effort made Emily gag. This was like every war movie she'd ever seen, the heroes pinned to the ground while enemy planes circled above, blowing them all up until the last survivor comes out swinging, taking down the bad guys at the last moment.

But this wasn't a movie, and she didn't know who the enemy was.

Suddenly, her heart froze in her chest.

Gilya and the kids.

This was no accident, this was not random. She was right about wanting to stand guard on the house tonight, because it was blatantly obvious that whoever was in these jets wanted to take out the whole town.

Someone knew.

Someone was watching them.

It took Emily longer than she wanted to pull herself to her feet and drop the M4 off of her body, remembering Royce's advice. Rivers was too preoccupied to notice that she was on her feet before it was too late, and all he could do was call her back.

Hotch was hollering into her earpiece now, overpowering Royce and Doc's commands for her to stand down.

That meant they could see her. Unfortunate if she happened to be killed.

Her brain told her feet to stop, a bomb could hit within half a mile of her and she could still be blown to bits. But it didn't matter. All she could see was Seyran's tear stained face, her mother's fearful eyes. Her father's corpse.

She'd promised they'd be safe tonight, at least for one night.

And with the growing roar of a jet zooming towards their street, Emily knew her promise was about to be obliterated.

Her lungs screamed out for air as her sprint became more desperate. Rationally, she comprehended that there was no way on God's green Earth that she could outrun a plane, or a missile or that matter, but when she saw Gilya open her door, yelling out for help, or in despair, Emily didn't care.

She skid her feet into the ground, whipping around a corner, only hundreds of yards from the house now. If she could just make it to Gilya, get her inside, get her to a safe spot, they might have a chance.

Emily's mouth opened in a command.

"Go back!"

So close. She could see the details on Gilya's hijab.

She didn't have time to say anything else, or even see if the woman had listened, because as she stretched her legs out for the next stride, she was hit with the force of a truck, and was sent flying back, landing and rolling roughly several times before settling into the dirt.

This must be it, she thought.

This was death.

But Emily wasn't in pieces, she wasn't scorched, she was being pulled to her feet by someone. Someone very familiar.

"Prentiss! Come on!" Rivers yelled, wrapping his arms around her torso and yanking her backwards with a stunning amount of strength that he hadn't displayed during their sparring training. Her ribs screamed at the pressure, but she fought back hard, trying to break from his hold. The house...it was still there...they had time.

"COME ON!" He repeated, and suddenly all the voices in her ear returned, splitting her skull with the volume.

"Gilya!" Emily screeched, as her calls were finally drowned out as a jet hurtled towards the row of cottages that Gilya's was nestled in the middle of. Rivers threw caution to the wind with her body; pulling her with such a great amount of power she thought her body might crumble in his arms.

"Fuck it!" He yelled, throwing them to the ground behind a massive chunk of debris just as the bomb hit its mark.

The Roj house, and the surrounding area, burst, like a supernova. Debris went airborne, and Rivers threw his weight on top of Emily to shield her from flying rubble.

With a mouthful of blood and dirt, Emily began to sob as the place where she'd promised Gilya and her daughters safety went up in flames as several more bombs fell in the distance.

"No!" She cried out, ironically realizing that's definitely something the tragic hero in the movie would do. She wasn't the hero, she didn't save anyone, she had to be saved from her own stupidity yet again.

She lost track of time lying underneath Rivers, and once the smoke cleared and the explosions stopped, she felt herself being lifted up. Her entire body protested, every muscle and joint crying in pain, but Rivers didn't loosen his grip on her as he started to walk them back to where whatever was remaining of their tanks sat.

Well, he was trying to walk them. Emily was still fighting with every bit of her being, pulling back towards the place where the house had been, as if she expected any survivors from that massacre. She didn't care, she was panicked and in shock, and the more she resisted, the angrier Rivers got.

By the time they reached their destination, Emily was blind with fury and misery, and Rivers had lost all patience and his attempts to lead her back had gone from protective to outright careless.

So when he finally released her from his grasp, she didn't miss a beat, whirling around and pushing him off like he was venomous.

"Why did you do that!" Her voice choking on a sob, her tone high and wavering, but the groans of agony from the nearby remaining survivors overpowered her volume. "Why did you do that, Rivers?! We let them die!"

"Prentiss!" Royce was closing in fast, Hotch and Doc on his heels, but not quick enough to stop Rivers' temper from boiling over.

"I saved your goddamn life, Agent! If I hadn't taken you out like a fucking quarterback you'd be pieces all over the damn road!" Rivers' face was reddened, blood trickling out of his nose and from a wound on his forehead.

"We had time to get them out! If you had helped me get them outside instead of taking me down we would all have had a fucking chance!" Emily was hysterical, and while the likelihood of all five of them surviving in the knick of time was low, it was still possible.

"Let it go, Prentiss! This is a war, people die! You can't be idiotic and charge headlong into danger every time someone gives you fucking puppy-dog eyes!"

Emily lunged forward in an instant, shoving Rivers' shoulders harder than she meant to. "They needed our help!"

She expected Rivers to retaliate; she could tell by the way he'd pinned her to the ground and man-handled her when he'd pulled her off the road that he let his rage become physical very fast. So when he grabbed her by the vest and shoved her against part of the remaining tank, she almost smirked.

"Rivers!" Royce yelled, assisted by Doc as he pulling the man off of Emily, pushing him back several feet. Once she was able, Emily made another move forward, full of utter wrath now, but was immediately stopped by Hotch, who wrapped his arms completely around her body before lifting her off the ground and walking her away from Rivers and Royce.

Emily struggled in his arms for a few moments, but Hotch just stood, his back to Rivers, completely unmoved. She didn't even have to see his face to guess he was beyond furious with her; for running out in the middle of a bombing and fighting with Rivers. His body language told her everything she needed to know. After a short period of time, she finally lost all of the fire in her, and let her knees buckle as a loud wail ripped from her throat, her tears tracing down her cheeks.

Hotch easily carried the majority of her weight, all his anger towards her evaporating as he helped her steady herself on her feet, his restraining grip becoming a tight, much needed comforting embrace.

"I know, baby." His whisper pressed into her hair, and it only made her cry harder.

"I..."

"You tried." He responded softly, wiping blood that she hadn't even noticed away from behind her ear. "I would have done the same thing."

"I let them die."

She felt Hotch shake his head and sniff, and she realized with a pang of guilt that she'd made him cry too.

"No, you didn't. It's not your fault. It's not Rivers' fault, it's not anyone's fault except for the people who dropped the bombs, Emily. You know that."

"I promised them."

"You held up your end as best you could."

"If...if Rivers had helped me..."

"Then you'd all be dead. He did the right thing, no matter how badly I want to knock him out right now."

His words faded out near the end of his statement, and Emily wondered if she'd imagined them. She just shook her head, closing her eyes and covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the sobs that kept making her mewl like an injured animal.

"Hey."

Doc's quiet voice came from behind Hotch, and she felt the man holding her turn to acknowledge him.

"I should check her out, she's got a couple cuts, and I already found one on Rivers that's gonna need to be stitched up."

"Okay, just be careful."

Behind tear heavy lashes, she could make out Doc standing in front of her now, softly coaxing her head up with his fingers under her chin. No matter how badly she wanted to buck away, she stayed still, mostly due to the fact that Hotch's grip was growing tight again.

"Let me see that pretty face, Em."

His fake smile was enough to pause her hysterics for a moment, and she complied as he lifted her chin, checking the smooth skin of her neck for deep wounds, Emily didn't really remember if she'd been hit by anything, but after a minute Doc sighed in relief.

"You're fine. At least now you have a reason to be sore." She bit her lip and gave Doc the death glare before he peered over at Hotch, now addressing both of them. "Royce says a military ambulance is going to come get us, we just need to hang tight for a bit...and I'm assuming he's going to want to speak with you later, Emily."

She just absentmindedly nodded, silent now, her eyes unfocused and far away. Doc and Hotch continued talking, maybe about the blasts, maybe about Rivers, she didn't know or particularly care.

Her eyes were fixed on the Roj's land, now filled with rubbish, and the only thing she knew was that no matter what Hotch said, she'd let them die, the jets had only been the means to an end.

But whoever dropped the bombs would pay, she would make sure of it.


	16. Kissing in the Rain

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who's been supporting this story here and on ao3! It means so much to me that people are enjoying it, and I hope you like the rest of the story! I know I posted these last few chapters relatively fast, but I have a busy schedule ahead of me this week and I don't know when I'll have time to add the next chapter in! I'll post it as soon as possible, but again, thank you all so much!

* * *

Hotch had been raised in Tullahoma, a moderate sized Tennessee city that was closer to the border of Alabama than most people from the town liked to admit. He'd grown up there, played little league baseball there, aced his standardized tests there, watched his bastard of a father kick around his mother there, and buried the man there the day after his junior prom. There was one thing he knew for certain about Tullahoma; it was that no matter how far North you went once you escaped, you never fully got the town out of your system.

He'd always snorted and shaken his head when Sean would talk about going back to visit; Hotch had no desire to return after his mother had died a few years back, and he'd fully convinced himself that he managed to cleanse his personality of all the Tullahoma that was drilled into him over the years.

Still, sometimes he'd catch himself in the midst of a sexist thought, or find himself hiding bits and pieces of his emotions to appear composed and masculine; just small things. When Emily had told him about Angel last night, he'd tried his best not to react like 15 year old Aaron-from-Tullahoma would have.

Right now, he was overwhelmed by the southern boy coming out.

He'd been in the shower for a while now, his skin was turning red from the scorching water, but he couldn't get clean enough. No matter how hard he scrubbed or how long he stood underneath the blasting showerhead, he could still feel the screams of the villagers sticking to him, unable to roll of his body into the drain. He'd refused to cry when the bombing happened, even though Emily'd caused a few tears to come out when she broken down, and he'd refused to cry when they had all loaded into the ambulance and drove past all the death and destruction.

And now, he stood in the shower in the middle of the night, with the washroom all to himself, and he still couldn't cry.

Something inside of him was denying him the release, and Hotch KNEW it was his inner voice telling him that if he cried, he was weak. That he wasn't a man, that the moment a tear slipped down his cheek he would become nothing more than a hollow shell of his strength that used to be. Logically, he was completely aware of how much bullshit had been hammered into him by his father and his conservative upbringing, but it was almost automatic for him to default back to stoic apathy.

Guilt crept over him, reminding him that when Emily to take her shower, she had still been incredibly unnerved and disconnected. She'd stopped crying almost instantly after Doc stopped checking her out, and she'd been absolutely silent on the ride back to camp. Hotch had given her some space, keeping himself available to her if she wanted, but she'd just stared ahead, looki ng at nothing in particular. Rivers had apologized profusely to her several times, and she'd responded with a bleak smile that Hotch recognized as her "I'm not okay leave me the fuck alone" smile.

Speaking of Rivers, he'd never wanted to rip anyone a new one as badly as he did with that asshole. Of course, those were his unprofessional feelings talking, because Rivers HAD saved Emily's life, and Hotch did end up thanking him for a good ten minutes before he'd retired to his own room, but a fiery rage exploded through his chest when he replayed the scene of Emily being slammed into the tank with that god awful masochistic grin on her face.

She should have never pushed Rivers. He should have been there to hold her back, but God she knew so much better. He never had to worry about brutality accusasions about Emily in the field, he'd cleared some for Derek where a few pedofiles got a little too roughed up during capture, and he'd even wormed his own way out of a claim or two when he was younger, but Emily was level-headed, she was calm. She didn't lose her cool.

She was being broken by this mission little by little, and while he'd been noticing, he'd been too preoccupied with the thought of taking her to bed with him every night or the way she looked at him with those doe eyes to realize how close she'd been to killing herself tonight.

His negligance made him sick, and he choked down a gag that came out of no where. He needed to stop hiding from her and go back, to make sure everything was alright, and even though she'd probably blow him off and give him the cold shoulder, Emily was as unpredictable as a summer storm; and he had to make himself accessible to her if she was on the edge again.

He finally willed himself to turn off the water and exit the shower, making quick work with his clothes as he ran a towel over his head once before leaving.

The barracks were silent, and he almost enjoyed the echo that his steps made with each stride. It was refreshing in a way to be alone for a few moments, where he only had to worry about how quickly he paced his walk back to the room.

Much to his dismay, Emily was not in their quarters when he opened the door, but her bathroom key was resting on the bedside table. Frowning slightly, he closed off the room with a soft sigh. She was being careless now, and as much as he wanted to give her some space, he found himself walking towards her washroom. She'd gone into the bathroom long before he did, and while she was prone to spending a good amount of time in there, his subconscious told him that it wouldn't be wise to leave a woman who willingly ran towards a blazing death only a few hours ago alone.

"Emily." He said, rapping on the door once he reached his destination. It wasn't locked, but no matter how intimate he'd been with her, it still felt exceedingly innapropriate to enter when she was most likely indecent.

He wasn't surprised when he was answered with stark silence.

Exhaling, irritated now, Hotch carefully pushed the door open, making sure to cause enough of a rucus that Emily wouldn't be caught off-guard if she was unaware of his intrusion. He almost snorted at how much cleaner the women's room was than the one he shared with the rest of the camp's population. The sound of rushing water was coming from the back of the chamber, and he began to make his way to the showers.

"Emily, it's Aaron, is everything okay?"

He cursed inwardly at how "desperate boyfriend" he was starting to sound. She was probably just in the shower still, letting the water run over her for the millionth time like he'd been doing minutes ago. He was beginning to feel crazy with how much he worried about her, and he feared that it would turn into something more controlling if he didn't get it in check.

She wasn't even his. They'd slept together once, only because they were shoved in the same room together for almost two weeks and counting. He couldn't deny, he had wanted her for a long time, ever since Haley left; maybe even before if he was being honest, but Emily was independent, and an immediate claim of some sort of relationship would be enough to send her running for the hills, especially when considering how much stress she was under right now.

"Emily-"

He rounded the corner, finally facing the showers when he was met with Emily's dark gaze. She was sitting on the floor, her knees up to her chest and her arms holding herself together in a tight ball. Her filthy shirt was discarded a few feet from her body, but she was still wearing one of her sports bras and her leggings; which were pulled down low on her hips, as if she was taking them off and just sort of dropped to the ground in the middle of the action. The shower was running, he'd heard that correctly, but she was only close enough to for the spray to be hitting the left side of her body, soaking one portion of her matted ponytail.

"I forgot to bring the key." She stated, her voice far off.

"Yeah, I know." Hotch answered, cautiously moving towards Emily. He could feel the steam from where he stood, and Emily's flushed cheeks told him just how long she'd been sitting in the heat. "Are you okay?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes dry. He finally reached where she was, being careful not to get too close, and sat directly in front of her.

"What have you been doing?"

"Um, I came in, and turned on the water, and started to undress, and I got dizzy, and then sat down."

"Dizzy? Like how?"

"Like I couldn't breathe."

Hotch's throat tightened in empathy. "Did you feel like anything else?"

"I was really cold...and my hands were shaking. I know what you're getting at, it wasn't a panic attack. I don't get those."

Hotch sighed. "I hadn't even raised that as an option yet."

Emily looked up, realizing she'd betrayed herself before shaking her head. "I used to get them, actually, a lot, but I haven't had one since I started at the BAU. They never felt like..."

"You're tired, and hungry, and thrown. Everything's going to seem worse right now."

She just bit her lip and cast her eyes downward, picking at a hangnail on one of her thumbs.

"What'd you do to calm down? It's over now, I'm assuming."

She took a deep breath and locked her jaw, refusing to let her eyes water. "I don't know...I just kind of...rode it out."

"Oh, Emily..."

"It's no big deal."

"You should have come-"

"Come get you? I can't just walk into the men's room, and it's not like I was planning it."

He exhaled again. "You're right, just a reflexive thing to say."

She peered into his eyes, blinking several times before glancing up at the showerhead, internally debating if she should finally just let it hit her all at once.

"You're wasting a lot of water, you know."

Hotch tried to force a smile, waiting for her to respond to the taunt. She raised an eyebrow, and the beginnings of a smirk played on the corners of her lips, but she turned her head and rested it against her dry arm.

"I'm serious though, you need to get cleaned up or else you're going to turn into a wrinkly prune sitting here on this dirty floor all night."

"It's not dirty." Emily murmured quietly, and Hotch was amused that that was the part of the statement she felt the needed to reply to. He took a breath before reaching out for Emily's arms, expecting a fight when he lifted her off the ground. She complied, much to Hotch's surprise, and part of him ached, knowing full well that she had zero energy left, not enough to even try to push him off.

"Come on, you're already half-soaked." He said, carefully pulling the hairtie from Emily's ponytail, grimacing when he felt slippery blood under his fingers from her scalp.

Emily just stood, looking like an animal about to be lead to the slaughter. Her eyes were dull and vacant, and she wasn't pulling away from Hotch as he supported her, but she wasn't accepting the contact either. It was starting to worry him.

Turning his back to the water, he tried to ignore the hot spray hitting his fresh t-shirt as he brought his face down to Emily's and cupped her cheeks in his palms.

"What's wrong? You need to tell me, you're not acting like yourself right now."

Obviously, he knew what was wrong with Emily. She'd watched the family who she promised would be safe turn to dust, only days after being coated in an unsub's brain matter, only days after being attacked and bitten into on the streets. She was self-destructing, but he almost wished she was back to screaming and lunging at her teammates, instead of just letting him do whatever he wanted with her.

"I'm not strong enough to do this."

Her answer came in a hushed whisper, so soft that Hotch barely heard it over the pattering of the water hitting the tile flooring.

"No-"

"I'm not."

"Emily-"

"I'm not, Aaron! I'm the only one who keeps letting all these things get to me! I'm not strong enough!"

She was yelling now and starting to pull away from his grip. Hotch didn't let her go, she needed to get whatever she had pent up out, and if it had to be directed at him, then fine.

"You all just stand there with expressionless faces as people are fucking torn apart, and I feel like a goddamn fool when I start to cry, like a weak little girl who should have never been brought along for this mission in the first place!"

Hotch held onto her as she began to twist away from him, staying quiet no matter how badly he wanted to contradict her; to tell her that she was the one getting things done here. Of course, his silence only pissed Emily off more, which is what he'd been banking on.

"Fucking say something!" She cried, gripping his soaking shirt in her fists and pushing against him. The shove wasn't hard at all. She was holding back because it was him, he knew she was physically capable of putting him on his ass, or at least sending him back a few feet like she had with Rivers, but it didn't stop a small bubble of anger from burning into his body. He clamped it down hard, reminding himself that if he lashed back at Emily she might actually knock him out.

When he didn't open his mouth after a moment, Emily pushed again, this time hard enough for him to stumble backwards for half a step. "Answer me! Tell me I'm wrong like I know you love to do!"

Her words tugged at some deep ingrained emotional response stored for when something set him off enough for a raging reaction, but he forced it back, no matter how badly he wanted to yell back. He just tightened his grip around her torso, waiting for her to retaliate again.

Her prod this time came with a foot to his hip as she tried to pry herself from his body, practically snarling when her weakened muscles failed to free her. "Let me go Hotch!"

He kept his mouth shut. She was almost there.

"God, do something for once, don't just fucking stand there with that blank stare! Say something! Yell at me! Fuck, I don't care! Do something for once!"

With one swift movement, Hotch fully wrapped his arms around Emily quick enough for her not to have time to protest, and spun a full 360 degrees around, pulling himself out of the spray and putting Emily directly under the barrage of water.

She was pissed like he'd never seen her before now, but after a few seconds of a challenge to keep her under, she melted, her clutch on his shirt going from furious to desperate as her words choked off and she collapsed into his waiting embrace.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, running a hand down her drenched hair. He detested himself for bullying Emily into her meltdown, but she couldn't hold it in longer. She'd get herself killed.

She clung onto him with every last bit of strength in her body, her sobs taking more vigor out of her than she had to offer.

Her weeping wasn't the same as it was when he'd pulled her away from Rivers. It was ripping out from her chest now, shaking her entire frame to it's core. Her tears weren't for Gilya or Seyran or Delal or Alaz, they were solely for herself right now.

Which is exactly what she needed right now.

He pressed his face into her hair, repeating his apologies over and over until it was his turn to break.

He felt the tears before he heard himself start to cry. They dripped down his cheeks, mixing with the water from the showerhead and ran down Emily's back. All of the sorrow he'd been holding inside started to pour out, and within minutes he was grasping onto Emily for dear life; just as hard as she was holding onto him.

They must have looked ridiculous, he thought. Hugging each other in a public shower stall, bawling their eyes out while the water soaked through their clothes. For once, he was thankful that Emily was the only woman stationed here.

Both of them began to calm at the same time, their sobs and whimpers dwindling as Emily started pull away from his chest.

She wiped the tears out of her eyes, before looking up at Hotch and bursting into a thick laugh that echoed through the room. Hotch was thrown off-guard instantly, giving her a hard stare of disbelief as Emily continued to cackle like someone had told her a really good joke.

She held up her hands and had to fight to breathe between her giggling fits. "I tried to wipe my eyes, but I'm in the shower. There's no point."

Hotch shook his head, dumbfounded. Emily was leaned against the wall, racked by her laughing fit, and if he didn't know better he'd have her committed to a mental institution right then and there. In spite of himself, the tips of his lips curved into a grin, and before he noticed he found himself joining in.

She finally began to calm, only for a huge smile to break onto her tear-swollen face. "Come here." She said, and Hotch didn't wait a moment before leaning down and planting a dripping wet kiss on her lips, chuckling into her mouth when he felt her grin underneath his.

"You're crazy." He teased with a mumble, smiling as she pulled back and laughed, water gushing all over her face.

"They say people take on the characteristics of their leaders." She ribbed back, licking her lips.

"I pray to God that you never end up like me." He smirked, lifting her chin with his fingers before placing another peck on her beautiful lips.

"Um, will you wait for me by the sinks?" Emily asked, sniffing the last bit of her tears away. "I think I should actually shower, even though I'm enjoying this off-brand kissing in the rain."

"Whatever you want." Hotch said, squeezing her hand before tracking water all the way out of the shower.

"You can dry off with my towel, I brought two in." Emily called, pulling off her pants casually.

He nodded, forcing himself to close the curtain as she peeled the bra off of her body. She'd be okay, she wouldn't heal perfectly, especially as long as they were here for; which was starting to look like a while, but she was resilient. Emily could wail and cry and sob until she was out of breath and on her knees, and in the next moment she'd be pulling herself together, picking up all her shattered pieces and repairing herself, so at a glance, none would be the wiser.

And as he ran one of her sweet-smelling towels over his face, he heard a soft hum coming from Emily's shower, that suspisciously sounded like the tune of 'We Will Rock You'.

Biting back a smile, he shook his head.

Yeah, Emily would be okay.

They both would be.


	17. Glass Box

**A/N:** I'm sorry this update took a little bit longer than expected, and I'm sorry its short and mostly just a transitional filler chapter, but I'm not sure how soon I'll update again after this. The story is nearing the last few chapters, and I want to make sure I have everything in the order I want it to be in before posting, so I might just end up posting the rest all at once when I'm finished, but I haven't decided yet! Hopefully you all can keep being patient with me!

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Her heels clicked against the tile flooring with every step of her quick pace. She despised wearing anything over an inch and a half when on the job, and these kitten heels were starting to feel like stilettos as she walked down the same dimly lit halfway for the upteenth time today.

She didn't mind the location, it was quiet; almost serene in a sense, and the only real disturbances were the occasional rumbling from a bomb being deployed somewhere on top of the soil and in the distance. Compared to those poor chumps pumped up with testosterone up there whose only job was to rapid fire at each other all day, she felt like her work here was tame, and she admitted to herself that hell, it was even enjoyable some days.

She rounded the corner on the way to the room, huffing as her heel scuffed across the ground and made a low screeching sound.

Stupid fucking shoes, she thought. None of the men she worked with had this inconvenience.

She stopped in front of the heavy metal door, straightening her suit jacket before grasping the handle and giving it a strong push. The door opened, and with shoulders pulled back, she entered.

These rooms arguably had the best lighting in the entire compound. The way that the fluorescents reflected off of the walls of the glass cube in the center of the room. As sadistic as it seemed, these were her favorite rooms. The aesthetics of it all was just so classic for her, she practically felt like she could be in a Hollywood blockbuster.

"Hello, ma'am." The man in the corner answered. He was standing near the front of the cube, his hands in his pockets. She noticed that he had a few new cuts and bruises along his jaw and cheeks, and she chuckled to herself.

"You just can't keep yourself clean, huh? No matter how much warning we give you."

"It wasn't my fault, I made the best call ma'am."

"I know, I'm just tickled by it. The woman must be a real piece of work."

He snorted, barely turning to look at her. "Yeah, they all are. They're like old bloodhounds, they have the scent but it's taking forever to find where its coming from."

"Your concerns about her, how is that?"

"Now that the witness and her children have been eradicated, there's not much she has to go off of anymore, but she's mad. She hasn't given it up the past several days, and the others are starting to follow her lead."

"That's fine. Her rage will only further complicate things for them. She's not a passive woman, it's about vengeance, and she'll end up getting herself blown to bits because of it, maybe even before we can get our hands on them here."

"I don't know, her partner is always the one to talk her down from the ledge, and she listens to him. She's beginning to obey the others too, and I wouldn't be surprised if she did the same with me."

She raised an eyebrow. "That could complicate things."

He nodded, gazing back into the cube. She jutted her chin out.

"How has he been doing?"

"I'm not exactly sure, I've only been here for about half an hour, but Crowley says that it's been the same; rapid deterioration of speech, impressive strength, extreme resistance to pain, and incredible amounts of aggression. The experience is obviously still very uncomfortable for the subject."

"That's not necessarily something I'm interested in fixing. We still have some minor tweaks to fix, and the pain aspect is not something I care about strongly. If they end up dead within a short period of time, making it painless would be counterintuitive, and expensive. We're already working with a limited budget."

"It's just..."

"Hard to watch?" She asked, fixing her stare on the subject in question. The man continued to pace up and down in his confined space, his stumbling only increasing.

"Inhumane."

She scoffed. "Remember why we have to do this. It's going to save our own people from starvation, overcrowding, and you can bet your ass everyone will have clean water."

"It's just hard to watch." He repeated.

The man howled, the scream reverberating off of the glass walls, and she had the urge to bring her hands over her ears to block out the cry. She didn't.

"It's alright. I understand. You become numb to it after the first few."

He jumped back before she was finished with her statement as the test subject threw himself against the glass wall closest to them, clawing at the material until his fingernails bled. His eyes were black, soulless, and filled with the animal-like fury that every one of the rest had had. No matter how hard he bashed his body against the glass, nothing gave. The wall was virtually impenetrable; the glass was grade A bulletproof.

"How much longer does he have?" He asked, his voice breathless. He was afraid.

She sighed, the subject staggering away from the wall and running against the far one now. "Only a few more hours. He's practically finished."

"...I need to go back, I'm not sure how long I'm supposed to be out, and some of the officers who are being kept in the dark are starting to sniff around the inside ops."

She shook her head, hearing the fear in his voice. She didn't doubt his abilities at all, there was a reason she'd recruited him for this, but if he was letting the final product get to him, he had a long way to go.

"Of course, I wouldn't want you to stick out."

He nodded, and turned towards the exit with a desperation that made her sick. Before he got too far away, she reached out and gripped his arm.

"And thank you, for everything you're doing for us."

He just peered back at her, before finally giving her a smile so forced that she could almost smell the bullshit radiating off of it from a mile away. She released him, and as she watched him leave, she knew, he'd have to be taken care of, there couldn't be any weak links in this system. It wouldn't be allowed.

It had to be soon.


	18. Celebrations

**A/N:** Okay so I think I have everything laid out for the rest of the story, but this chapter is mostly just a filler again (except this one is hotchniss and it's literally just smut oops) I wrote this really late so I'm not sure how good it flows together but I hope it works until I can actually get the plot moving again!

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Emily was starting to really, really love mornings.

It wasn't because she was finally getting used to their schedule, no, not at all. She had something else motivating her to wake up.

The past few days had been hell on earth. The team was fully aware that there was someone leaking information out, but they had no idea which member of the base was doing so, so Royce began setting up in depth interrogations with all of the officers and their respective crews. Hotch and Emily automatically had to join in and look for tells. So far, only a few seemed suspicious thanks to body language, but they had absolutely no intel or knowledge of what the agents were insinuating. Time was definitely of the essence now, and Royce made the call to keep the team inside unless absolutely necessary because it was becoming obvious that someone really wanted them dead.

Which meant that the profilers had been here longer than they expected, and that there wasn't a real end in sight yet. September had morphed into October, and Emily realized with a heavy heart that she probably wouldn't be home for her birthday. She was almost more depressed by the fact that Hotch would most likely miss Halloween with Jack.

Thanks to the horrors of the past several events, both Emily and Hotch were suffering. Emily'd suffered a few more panic attacks, most in the middle of the night. Hotch would have to shake her awake, and calm her down enough until she realized where she was and who she was with. His own mental health was no better, though, but his own pain was much more introverted than Emily's was.

That being said, the two had begun to rely even more heavily on each other if that was possible.

And not just emotionally, but physically.

When she had started sleeping in Hotch's bed, they'd mostly kept off of each other besides that night, and of course, simple physical contact, but after a few nights, they realized that there was no way in hell they'd be able to hold off, especially if neither of them had any intention of sleeping separate; mostly because the thought of not being around someone constantly was too much, considering both of them had become absolute messes after what had happened with the Roj's.

And a few mornings ago, Emily had been encouraged to wake up a little bit quicker by lips on her neck and hands against her hips. Hotch had started taking showers in the morning too, (Emily chalked it up to anxiety and paranoia; the fear that after all he'd seen here that he'd never be clean again, but it really wasn't her business) and whenever he'd come back, he'd be wide awake, ready for Emily, who definitely encouraged the behavior with total enthusiasm.

She didn't mind that they were forming a habit.

And today was no exception.

"Fuck..." Hotch whispered, his voice shaky and thick with lust as his hands raked through Emily's ponytail and anchored themselves in the roots of her hair against her scalp. He gripped with just enough force to send tingles down her spine, to which she responded with a low moan.

"You want me to stop?" She teased, lifting her lips away from his hard-on for a brief moment to make eye contact with the man on the edge of the bed. Hotch was one of the few men she'd been with that actually cared if she got off when they fucked (in her experience women were much more in-tune with what other women wanted), and he made certain that everything was always equally as pleasurable for her as it was for him, so usually she was the one receiving incredible head, but she'd decided that it was her turn to return the favor today.

She was sure he wouldn't mind. And he didn't.

"God, no." He groaned, wiping himself off of her bottom lip. "I just want you on me more."

She smirked, bracing both of her hands against his thighs before pushing herself off of her knees and snaking her way back up to full height, sighing sensually when Hotch's hands immediately went for the waistband of her boyshorts as soon as she was back on the bed with him.

He slyly pulled up his own boxers at the same time, knowing full well how good it would get him if he was able to tease her into coming for him.

His cool, long fingers traced down her lower abdomen, causing her body to jolt and push straight up against his bare chest.

"That doesn't get old." He grinned as Emily moaned against his neck when his cock pressed hard against the fabric covering her soaking wet core when he brought her down onto his lap, his fingers teasing her soft skin.

She responded with a hitch in her breathing, and expertly ground her hips against him, eliciting a similar catch in Hotch's sighing.

He took this as an invitation to slide his fingers down just a little bit lower, finding the hood of her clit and gently applying just enough pressure to make her writhe and groan. After a few more taunting touches, he had managed to get Emily to a complete state of pliability; which he had to admit, was a feat in itself, and she practically shoved off her underwear when Hotch had removed his hand for a split second to pull the elastic waistband down.

He chuckled, sucking the soft, sweet skin at the base of her neck into his mouth as she clung to his hair, her legs completely straddling his bulge that was aching to be handled, but he had other priorities.

He brought his fingers back to the inside of her thighs, moaning into Emily's skin when he felt the heat radiating off of her before he even touched her where she wanted it so badly.

Just from the few times they'd hooked up, Hotch had discovered one thing that he adored about Emily Prentiss. She was so damn reactive to everything he did, and it was so fucking hot.

He pulled away from her neck to peer into some serious bedroom eyes that she was giving him right now, and it only made him harder.

"Emily." He breathed, bringing his free hand up to caress the outline of her swollen lips, a knot forming in his stomach when she slightly parted them to gently clasp his finger between her teeth.

The hand that was resting between her legs began to drag up the side of her thigh, getting closer to where he was dying to be right now. In true Emily fashion, she shifted her hips just enough for her pussy to brush against his palm. Just enough for Hotch to lose some of his control.

He roughly palmed her, moaning when Emily's body responded almost immediately and her eyes rolled back in her head. He took a gulping breath, regaining whatever edge he had before, and spread his fingers slowly, feeling her slick folds open for him.

"Aaron, please." She let out a feral growl that did some serious things to him. Whenever Emily was really turned on, she called him Aaron, and it unnerved him just enough to be incredible sexy.

He smirked, beginning to circle her clit with his middle finger. She shuddered and whimpered, running her hands down his neck before digging into his shoulders with her short nails.

"Like that?" He panted, stroking her with a bit more conviction now. Emily chuckled, nodded, and started to twist her hips at a faster speed to keep up with Hotch's fingers. Her cheeks were flushed a deep shade of pink, and her eyes were half-closed with utter lust.

She was so beautiful.

Hotch could barely handle himself anymore. His careful patterns against her became more urgent, and with every drag of his fingers, Emily became that much wetter.

After mercilessly attacking her clit to the point where she was practically climaxing already, he wrapped an arm around her back to hold her in place and began to tease her entrance the way he knew she liked.

Emily barely had time to moan before his index finger plunged into her, curving up and brushing against her g-spot with an accuracy that only came from experience. She buried her mouth into his shoulder to stifle a cry of pleasure as he added his middle finger, all the while making sure to rub against her sensitive clit.

Emily's hips started to rock at a reckless speed, shoving Hotch's fingers in and out of her with enough force to have her shaking after several dozen strokes.

"Yeah, baby, come on." Hotch sighed, the desire to have her come right into his palm keeping him from freeing his cock and pounding away.

Emily was a quivering mess, and she was craving every bit of physical contact possible. With a quick break in rhythm, she whipped off the only item of clothing that was separating her and Hotch besides his own underwear; her thin sleep-tank that had ridden so far up her stomach and was so low-cut that it might as well have been a bra.

Without hesitation, Hotch's mouth found her bare collarbone and began leaving sloppy kisses all the way down her chest until he reached one of her breasts. He peered up at Emily before taking her nipple into his mouth, gently tugging at it with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue afterwards.

"Jesus Christ." Emily whispered, her hands going to the back of his head to keep him in place. Hotch felt her pussy tightening around his fingers, her juices coating his hand now, and that was it for him.

He flipped Emily onto her back with a swift move, and before she could even notice the break in contact, he pulled off his boxers and pressed his length against her soaking core with a hiss.

Emily's eyes closed and her back arched, letting her legs fall as far open as they would go. Hotch grinded against her for a few moments just for good measure, enjoying the moans and whimpers he was getting from her before leaning down to her face.

"Good?" He huffed, knowing the answer.

Emily nodded, and cupped his jaw as she crashed her lips against his. They opened their mouths for each other, and Hotch pushed into Emily with a low growl. The kiss became messier and messier the harder he thrusted, and their hands caressed and grabbed and stroked any soft skin or hair they could find.

It didn't take long after that for both of them to become shaky and sloppy until they were crying out for each other, desperate to squeeze every last drop of pleasure from the other's body.

Hotch breathed heavily, taking most of his weight off of Emily's frame before pulling her body up with his.

She smiled, and leaned in for a much softer kiss. "Good morning."

He laughed and returned the kiss, only pulling away to press another to her brow. "Happy birthday, Emily."


End file.
